


Beyond the Shadows- A serie of Creepypasta themed One-Shots.

by frenchiedoodle



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Biting, Blood, Blood and Violence, Bloodplay, Character Death, Choking, Death Threats, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Fear, Friendly Writing to approximately anyone regardless of your gender/appearance, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Near Death Experiences, Other, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Psychic Violence, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rough Body Play, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stalking, Strong Female Characters, Strong Language, Submissive Reader, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchiedoodle/pseuds/frenchiedoodle
Summary: You know what they say when you're too adventurous:"Curiosity killed the cat".Apparently, the saying could be literal in some of these cases, if you replace the cat with yourself. And while you couldn't resist checking your closet before going to sleep because of the unexplained anxiety, you unknowingly unleash the bloodthirst of the shadows you've always felt and never saw.(IMPORTANT: Read the Notes.)





	1. Insomnia - An Eyeless Jack One-Shot.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work is not for the faint of heart. If you're easily triggered by violence, blood/gore and sexual content, please DO NOT READ. Those stories will be scary and violent on purpose, because they feature mentally disturbed killers. You've been warned. 
> 
> Anyway, my updates are pretty strange, cause I keep editing the chapter to make it longer and longer, since I consider one chapter as one story . If you're reading this right now, and the chapter seems to be on a cliffhanger, it's simply not finished yet. It will probably be the same for other chapters as well. If I finish the chapter, you'll see in the notes a line  
> **written with those thingies on each sides**  
> telling that the story's finished, meaning that I am writing or planing the scenario to the next one. So until you don't see in the notes that I have finished writing the whole story, I suggest that you don't read it to avoid any spoilers, and keep yourself updated until you see the story is finished. I'll try to find a more convinient way to update later, since I haven't had time to organize this first fanfiction. (yup, i'm a baby writer...sorta...)
> 
> If you decide to continue, well enjoy the stories!  
> (P.S. Sorry if there are errors in my writing, english isn't my native language! ^^')
> 
>  
> 
> **This story is finished! Go ahead and read it! **

_You ran._

 

_The dirty grey walls were gliding through your vision, becoming blurry as tears menaced to spill from your wide eyes. Afar, a closed black door was your target. Your only way out of this hell. And despite being so out of breath that your lungs burned each time you inspired dust smelling oxygen, despite your legs being heavy as led and aching to the point they were almost moving on their own, you couldn't resolve yourself to stop. You somehow knew that if you stopped only for a second, It would catch you. But what would catch you? What would It even do to you? You didn't know. But your fear was screaming at you to run away from the ominous darkness behind you._

_You started to hear an awful screech coming from behind, so loud it even covered the sound of your steps. It was ethereal and high-pitched, rapidly growing to engulf you in decibels of pure pain. The notes of this hellish anthem managed to send daggers deeper into your skull than anything you could have ever imagined. But you, you were hellbent to get out alive of this place. Even if it seemed that the closer you were from the door, the farther it would go, you were determined to escape. Nothing but fate could stop you._  
  
_And fate is a_  
  
_Cruel,_  
  
_The Cruelest_  
  
_Of friends._

  
  
_Everything seemed to slow down around you. You weren't running anymore, you were paralyzed in mid air. You ever so slowly saw the ground coming closer and closer to you, reminding you that the Beast behind hasn't stopped, only slowed down a bit. You braced yourself for the impact as well as whatever terrifying doom the Menace hunting you down reserved you._

 

_~  ~  ~_

 

You woke up breathing heavily, shivering violently despite the burning heat consuming your body. 

The first thing that hit you is that you were not on your bed, but then your realised that you had woken up from falling from it; especially when a dull pain started to settle in a good half of your body. You wondered what time it was, you had to check. You forced your limbs to move with all your will, but only managed to growl a bit. What was happening? Your were so weak, too weak to move, to talk, or even to think. You could only lie on the floor, and try to make abstraction of the monster headache that killed every newborn thoughts right away. Then, you felt a pang of disgust in the blurry mess that was your mind: you were soaked in your own sweat like you had lost liters of water, your clothes sticking to your body with an ice cold temperature that, strangely, wasn't easing the burning sensation running through your veins. You probably smelled awful. And probably had a bad breath too. For an instant, you could only concentrate on the tiny, cold beads of sweat rolling from your damp hair to reach your temples and your ears, ever so slowly crossing your forehead. You wanted to see what time it was, desperately.  
You finally managed to make you phone drop next to you by tugging at the charger. The fall wasn't too terrible, since it was from your bed. After being blinded by your screen's light, you looked at the time, squeezing you eyes to see painfully obvious details on the clock.  
5.02 a.m.

Judging by the fact that you woke up early from a weird nightmare, covered in sweat, shivering and feeling way too hot at the same time, you made the educated guess that you were sick, and that your fever must have been quite high. But you somehow felt slightly better with all of those informations. Even if you couldn't process everything in your foggy mind and that your head hurt like never before, you felt like you had a small, fragile but tight grasp on the situation. So you decided to shower and wash yourself before calling a doctor. It would be a good thing to call early, since you lived in a small flat in a countryside town. Luckily enough, you had this small clinic outside of your town where you could probably go. It wasn't very well equiped to treat serious illnesses or injuries, but you thought they could effectively treat a fever.  
With what you thought was all the strength of the world, you managed to stand. Once standing straight, your realised your head throbbed with painful pulsations while your body was aching a constant, dull pain in its muscles.  
You stabilized yourself on your drawers, and aimed your bathroom. The trip wasn't long, but you honestly were far from well. At least you could count on the small support of your walls to guide your more or less safely to your destination.

Entering your small bathroom, you only had one thing in mind: get rid of the filth sticking to your body, and refresh your burning skin with a cold shower. Glancing at your reflection in the glass, you almost didn't recognize yourself. Your hair was dirty and tangled, and your skin had an uncanny alabaster tone to it,glowing with a bit of sweat and contrasting with dark circles beneath your sparkless eyes. Well you were definitely not in a good state today, but you guessed it was nothing a shower couldn't fix. Once undressed you got suddenly incredibly cold, so you entered your shower and turned on the hot water. Underneath it, you waited and waited for it to warm up, shivering under the tepid clear liquid. Unfortunately you had turned it to burning hot, and your body decided that it was not hot enough. When you should have felt water scalding your skin, you only felt shivers and fresh water running down your chilling body. You then abandoned any hope to get warmer and decided to quickly wash yourself, ignoring your stiff muscles protesting against your swift movements. Getting out of the shower, another wave of frigid air hit you and you hurried to wrap yourself in one of your towels. Crouching to keep warmer, you wondered how your headache could get worse after such a relaxing clean up. At least you felt fresh and clean, the soft floral smell of shampoo reaching your nose.   
  
You dried yourself the best you could, brushed your teeth, and did everything else to look a bit more presentable than the pain throbbing mess you really were. It was the least you could do, it helped you to not feel sick, to feel you were still an active and fonctioning human being, despite your illness. You didn't want to suffer the pity of others seeing you in this poor state, you hated it. Even when it was from a benevolent feeling, you didn't like to appear so weak. You wanted to be strong, to survive anything, even the smallest thing, on your own. Maybe to prove to the world you were not a puny young damsel in distress? Anyway, it was way too early for such questions. Once done you got out of the bathroom and groggily headed to your room to dress yourself. And you may have been picky at the "cleaning yourself" part of your early morning, but for the sake of your exhaustion, you decided to just put on a pair of dark jeans, a simple black t-shirt and one of your comfiest sweat-shirts to comfortably make your way to the clinic. After all, going there in fancy clothes would be unpractical AND annoying, and you didn't want to lose any of your precious time. Plus most of the people there probably wouldn't mind your clothes. You just couldn't care less.   
  
You were going to pick your phone to call the clinic, kneeling on the floor, when your already excruciating headache coupled with a violent and sudden nausea. Your vision started to spin, and you quickly lost all sense of direction, even if your were absolutely not moving. A muffled 'thud' echoed through your ears, and your realised by seeing your flat's floor sideways that you collapsed. Even the pain of your fall was drowned in your troubled senses. You felt like throwing up, you felt scared, you would have given everything to jump out of your skin and never feel anything again. Maybe you could sleep off those awful sensations, getting easily rid of them.   
A strange desire to fall into a restful slumber crawled upon you like an unstoppable plague.   
But you resisted. You knew that this feeling was luring you in something terribly wrong. This was not right.

 

You   had   a   problem...

 

P l e a s e   s o m e o n e   h e l p   m e . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_No._    
You were going to be fine. Everything would be okay. You just needed to make a few, simple gestures. Maybe it would take your last ressources of energy, maybe it seemed impossible, you didn't know. But you had to do something. You could not lie idly on the floor and wait until you pass out without even try to do something. Your tired mind was now live, analysing the whole situation despite the burning ache behind your eyes.   
_Take your phone._  
Your arm weakly extended to reach the phone and drag it to the nearest of your face. Even this simple gesture threatened to make you faint.

_Turn it on, dial 911._  

The blinding light of your cellphone submerged your face, but you forced your eyes to stay open for as long as you had to call for help. Your fingers delicately tapped your screen to dial the emergency number. You waited. 

.

.

.

 

"...911, what is your emergency? " called out a distorted, feminine voice. 

  
_Speak._  
You opened your mouth, but only a breathy whimper came out.

 

"Is someone here? Who's calling?" said the voice, which was laced with a bit of worry.

 

You couldn't let the weariness get the best of you so soon. Not when you were so close to your goal. You gathered what was left of your strengh and fueled it up with your will power. 

  
  
"(F/N)... (F/N) (L/N)...."

 

What resonated in your flat didn't sound like your voice. It was high-pitched, almost whispered, and it had a desperate undertone to it. It sounded distressed and tired. 

  
  
  
"Okay, (F/N), tell me what happened."  
  
  
"Sick... I'm alone..." you managed to answer, hoping that it would content the operator. 

 

"Help will soon arrive. Stay with me on the phone (F/N). Where are you living?"

 

You gave your adress with a shaky voice, wondering how much time you would be struggling before being completely unable to do anything. At least you called. Help was on their way. You would be okay. 

 

"I... I want to sleep..." you said with a small voice, unable to think about anything else than the quiet torpor invading your whole body inch by inch. Your lids were so heavy, almost closing on their own.   
  
"(F/N), stay with me. I need you to stay with me on the phone. (F/N), are you here-"

 

With your eyes closed, the only thing you could remember before you blacked out was the rambling, distant voice of the operator on the phone next to you. It felt like you were falling through a hole. 

 

~  ~  ~   

 

You couldn't really see what was going on around you. First, you heard the muffled sound of sirens strangely close to you. It was like it was wrapped up in thick blankets and placed right next to your head. Your head was hurting like  _fucking hell_ , but the pain was unexpectedly familiar. Born from the song of the sirens were a bunch of voices, quickly becoming louder and louder. You couldn't distinguish them from each other, but only prayed for them to stop because they were so awful to listen to. You didn't even understand what they were saying. They were just shouting things. Those shouts.  _Make it stop..._

Then, the booming noise of a door roughly opened shot adrenaline in your veins. You still couldn't see anything, probably because you couldn't open your eyes. No matter the adrenaline, or how afraid and determined you were, you just couldn't. The voices weren't stopping. They were just talking non-stop, somewhat drowned in a non-existent sea of undistinguishable, background noises. 

You gasped softly when strong hands gripped your arms. Then, you felt more hands, probbing at your neck, your wrist, and your torso. You began to feel terrified, feeling helpless under the overwhelming circumstances. You didn't understand what was happening. Trying to force yourself out of the unknown grasp in vain, you managed to open your eyes, even if it was only a little. You saw three blurry, man-like figures hovering over you. They were talking, mostly in a calm but firm voice. One of them seemed to give orders to the others. Then he turned to look at you. It was an ambulance driver, you were going to be okay. You could feel his gaze upon you , even if you could not see his eyes. 

  
  
"Help..." You managed to whisper, trying to move a bit. 

 

He said something in a soothing voice, and put a hand on your burning forehead in a reassuring manner. The voices became more and more distant, and you felt yourself fall into an uncanny slumber when the men began to lift you up...

 

 

~  ~  ~

 

 

_You ran._

 

_You ran to a black door, nearing it as your legs were carrying you through an alley like they had there own mind. You ran away from something, something behind you. It was hiding in the dark, ready to pounce and trap you under its claws. You were scared, and ran like no tomorow. Everything around you indicated, seemed even soaked in pure danger. You wanted to believe that the black door you were chasing with so much ambition was your salvation. And yet, now that you could finally reach it, you started to wonder. What if it was all an illusion? What if there was no salvation? What if all you've done until this day was utterly useless? What if there was nothing behind you? What if...?_

_You stopped._  
_Everything suddenly seemed so unclear, so horribly difficult to understand. Everything that you knew was mixing up in your head, leaving life as a blatant, disfigured lie. Perception of wrong and right, of light and dark, of death and life. Litteraly everything._

_You couldn't stand being so unsure of everything. You needed something. Anything. Your palm rose up to rest gently on the doorknob. Then, you turned it-..._

 

_~   ~   ~_

 

Your eyes slowly open to the unfamiliar ceiling of a dark room. Your head...It wasn't hurting anymore. But your arms, resting on each side of your body, on top of a blanket, were a bit painful. They especially stinged when you tried to wriggle, or to adjust a bit to your position. Wondering what happened, you tried to remain calm. Panicking right now was far from a good idea and you knew it, even if stress was already begining to build up in your chest. You peaked at the room. Surprisingly enough, you could see rather well, and even distinguish some details here and there despite the obscurity. On your left, obsrtucting your view of a potential entrance, was just a plain white removable curtain. Everything was white and clean, and there was several empty beds on each sides of the room. Trough a window that was not quite facing your bed, your saw the nocturnal sky, and its dark, purplish shades. Then, the sight of your arms told you you were at the clinic, or any other health institution in the radius of your small town. On the index of your left hand was a weak, plastic clamp connected to a beeping machine. And on your right forearm, you could see a tube coming out of a sticking, large plaster. In the thin tube was a transparent liquid that became pinkish when it got closer to your arm.   
  
Your first wondered what you were doing here, but after a second all your memories flooded back in your head: The fever, your body collapsing on the ground, the feeling of helplessness your felt, the call to get help, the so-called help bursting into your flat...As you remembered everything, you first felt relief to be treated. You would worry for the cost of the care later, now you were just enjoying the fact that your head wasn't pounding with pain. Then you wondered what had happened to you. What did cause such a fever to occur to you? Why were you so sick? Glancing around, you found a board with a paper sheet on it, resting at the end of your bed. Informations about your condition were probably written on it. You became eager to get it, to have some of your questions answered. Lifting yourself in a sitting position was proven to be difficult, especially because of your weak state. You whimper when you supported yourself on your elbows, feeling the needle in your right arm move a bit. The feeling was grossing you out more than anything else, but you needed to move.

Finally up, you carefully crawled to grab the board. You were so joyful to at least be able to move on your own, and to not have any searing pain through your head nor your muscles each time you dared to move. Looking at the papers, you realised the darkness in the room was far from complete, even with no lights on, as you could read everything if you drew near enough. Your eyes widened when you saw what you suffered; apparently your nauseous fever was caused by an appendicitis. The infection was violent but had been calmed down with medicine, and the doctors were waiting the next day to operate you. You found your condition pretty unexpect-

 

 

 

 

 

**CRASH**

 

  
  
  
  
You jumped when you heard a crashing sound resonate outside of the window. Frowning, you were surprised and a bit curious about what could have caused that sound in the dead of night. A gut wrenching tension was building up as you carefully listen. Strange noises could be heard against the thin walls of the room, coming from the outside. What could possibly cause those sounds? It was like something was crawling up the walls. But you were at least at the fifth floor of the building! How was that even possible? Dumb-founded and convinced it was certainly not a hallucination, you got up to investigate what was going on. The clamp on your left hand fell, making the machine attached to it beep furiously. You grasped the pole holding the pouch of clear liquid to your right, so moving forward would not rip the needle in your arm. You stared at the window, slowly approaching it to see what was beneath. 

A dark gloved hand appeared on the windowpane, attached to an arm, rising more and more as it dragged the body of its owner up. 

A hand.   
  
  
A  _fucking hand..._  
  
You gasped, doing your best to hold back the scream building up in your throat. Someone was out there. Someone was going to get you. You  _needed_ to run away. Any thoughts besides getting away became futile. You looked at your right arm, and didn't think about anything.You just clenched your teeth, ripped the plaster and took the needle out of your arm, staining your thin hospital gown with drops of crimson blood. You then burst out of the room, finding yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You bolted to your left when you heard the window in the room open, taken aback by the horrifing rush of adrenaline now coursing through your veins. You looked at the blurry doors gliding to your sides, each being the same as the last one, while you searched for a place to hide. At the end of the corridor, to the right, was a staircase. You made an abrupt turn and took it, going down as fast as you could. Once you got to the lower floor, you were facing a desk with a chubby police officer sitting asleep next to it. To the right and the left extended two other corridors. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard hasted steps coming your way. You would have wanted to wake up the officer, ask him to protect you, but deep down you knew you wouldn't have the time. On his waist was a set of keys, with small labels on each of them indicating the corresponding room. You quickly took the set, waking up the officer, and bolted to your left again. Your directions were random, but you hadn't the time to ponder each decisions: you needed to improvise while not making stupid decisions, which you past thought was your personal speciality.   
Behind you, you heard the officer groggily shout at you:

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?! Get back!"  
  
While running, your eyes fell on a door which seemed a bit different from the others, and you decided it would be the best of hiding spot for now. The door was plain, with a small window at the top of it, and under the window you could see a sign reading "Access Forbidden-Employees Only". You quickly looked through the window and only saw rows of shelves stuffed with multiples boxes and bottles of medicine.  
You heard the officer get up and slowly approaching you, blinding you with his torch lamp now switched on. You had to be quick. Taking the set of keys, your eyes rapidly searched across the keys to find the one with a "Pharmacy" label. Out of breath, you had trouble reading the labels in your shaking, sweaty palms. Fortunately you found the fitting one at the time. The officier started to shout again, running towards you when you had shoved the key in the keyhole, begining to open the door. You opened it and got in, swiftly shutting it and locking yourself in with trembling hands. You then backed away from the door, hiding in the darkness of the room when the man started to pound on the door, trying to turn the knob while ordering you to open. You kept the keys close to your chest, breathing frantically and staring at the door like it would open up on its own at any time. You pitied the officer and prayed that he would defend himself against the intruder, but you also were scared to death and didn't want to get out of your hiding place. Blood had been running down your injured arm, and it was now dripping on the floor with a frustratingly regular sound.   
  
You froze when you heard a blood chilling scream coming from outside. It was quickly replaced by breathy, moist gurgles that you did not comprehend right away. The door shook when the heavy man behind fell on it, gliding to finally roll over on the floor. If only the silence, peaceful albeit a bit unnerving, could have settled at this moment. But your luck had turned its back to you again, and the breath you unknowingly have been holding returned, shaky. It although grew more desperate and frightened this time, as you heard the ripping of fabric followed by the grostesque sounds of flesh being torn ruthlessly. The scene seemed unending. Feeling like you were going to throw up, you gasped softly to try to refresh the burning feeling coursing from your stomach to your throat, and crouched down to ease the wrenching of your guts. It was when you heard bones breaking that you covered your ears, gasping for the air that lacked you and your furiously beating heart. What...Why was it happening? Why was it happening to you? 

Suddenly, you lost it. A terrified scream, painful to keep silent, escaped you when you stared wide eyed at the foot of the door: A large wave of blood was leaking towards your crumpled form. The goopy puddle kept coming closer and closer to you, and you couldn't help but to crawl back to escape it. A foul scent hit you nose a few moments later, intensifying the nauseous feeling already harassing you. You covered your mouth and nose, but it quickly became useless as the awful odour kept reaching you. You started to sob, without detaching your eyes from the scarlet  liquid crawling toward you like a feral monster ever so quietly making its way towards you. Then, you found the strengh to detach your eyes from the thick puddle, mostly with the help of your lurking fear pushing you to check your surroundings. Maybe it was awaken again by the sudden lack of disgusting sounds? You suddenly felt completely mortified as your look settled on the small window of the door. There he was...

There  _it_ was.  
  
Through the small of a window you had, you saw two gaping holes in a dark blue mask. The obscurity of them was the most uneasing thing you ever saw, it reminded you of some silly fear of the dark, or more appropriately the fear of what was lurking within it. They were even more unsettling because of the black, slimy matter leaking from them. Your whole chest tightened when you crossed this uncanny look. It seemed so stern, like it was staring through your soul with some sort of sick stillness. It didn't even seem alive, it felt like being stared at by an unnatural, unblinking, dead look. Then, the tightening of your chest transformed in pure panic when you relized that you were not only followed and hunted down by someone, but that this someone wasn't human. Of course, being tracked down by a sick individual with malvolent intends was alarming on its own, but the fact that your stalker had such an uncanny and inhuman look added to the horror of the situation.   
  
Panic reached it's highest peak and you couldn't take it anymore. The set of keys left your hand, which was previously gripping them with a steel grip, like you were afraid that if you weakened your grip you would lose the precious item forever. You just felt so overwhelmed by all of these terrible feelings, and overall so tired to run away and try to cope with those horrendous moments. You covered your eyes and began to softly cry in your hands, letting go every onces of pain you had contained for your own sake. After the terrifying moment, it just felt so heavenly good to get rid of the pressure. You were not going to die. You were safe, you would escape and protect the others from this sick willed trespasser. You repeated this precious mantra: Everything would be okay. Once completely drained up from your tears, eyes painful from crying, you lifted your head. The door was unmoving, and nothing seemed to be near it. Complete silence had once again drowned your surroundings, much to your relief this time. You sniffed a bit too loudly, and stilled a bit, but relaxed when you realized nothing was near you by the lack of sound and movement. You felt like you could make your way out safely. Your plan for now? Calling the police and getting out alive. You didn't know if you could do it in your condition, but it was at least worth trying. You took the set of keys to the floor, and all of your courage to get out.   
  
In front of you, there was a stilled puddle of blood that you couldn't escape. You had to cross it, it was the only way. A knot was pushing in your throat, bringing back nasty memories in your mind. The sight of it scared and disgusted you to no extend, but you knew your bravery would somewhat be rewarded if you managed to escape this hellhole alive. You gripped tightly the right key in your hand, clenching your teeth in apprehension. You rose a foot, bending it so only the point of it would touch the sticky fluid. The moist substance, reeking of death and rot already, stained your feet, that you dared to put flat on the puddle. It was utterly infamous, and yet your will power surpassed the slippery feeling beneath the sole of your naked feet. You finally managed to make your way to the door, each steps making a splashing, sloppy sound. Unlocking the door, your felt a weight growing in your stomach. What would you find outside? You honestly prepared for the worst. You put your hand on the knob, slowly turned it, and gulped with strain before opening the door.   
  
First, you didn't see anything. Turning your head to your right and to your left, the hallways were completely empty. You sighed in relief, but tripped over a heavy, limp mass on the floor. Lowering your eyes to a grusome sight right next to your feet, you couldn't help but to let out a loud whimper. On the cold tiles bathed by blood was lying a disfigured form, oddly tangled with blood soaked clothes. You couldn't believe this was once a human being, a man which had talked with you; you felt bad. Ripped flesh glistened with reddish shades to the pale moonlight, while they were still dangling from broken bones sticking out of the corpse. What was once a human being became now an unrecognizable pile of soggy meat. Scattered around it, organs were lying down, purple or brown flaccid things unmoving on the crimson liquid. The intestine seemed idly weaving on the ground, with a heart, squished lungs and others to ornate the filthy sight. However, the kidneys were nowhere to be seen. 

Fortunately, the sight of so much blood earlier seemed to make you almost immune to such a bloody scenery. Of course, you were profoundly hit by this awful sight, and you doubted that playing with the limits of your mental sanity in this way could do you any good. You were sure it could even have long lasting damages on your general mental state, and you felt like dying a little more of shock inside each time your heart skipped a beat in this damned place. But at least you managed to not puke, which was already an achievment.

Finally, you started to run, following the signs guiding you to the exit. You had no other choices than to run away and call for help, knowing that a cannibalistic monster was roaming the halls of the building. Strangely, these were really quiet, maybe too quiet for your liking. The further you went, the more suspicious you got, as you only passed open or closed doors in a silent atmosphere ponctuated by occasionnal beeping sounds stradling you. Earlier you only wished for silence, indeed. But now that a twisted sort of paranoia had settled in your chest, you could only stay tensed at the atrocious lack of sounds, which made you only more aware of your helplessness. At times like these, you just wished to give up. You didn't want to die, really. But right now, it just seemed so easy to not care anymore so the pain in your heart and the fears in your head would dissipate instantly. 

Then, suddenly, hope rushed back to you again. Maybe it was delusionnal? Maybe despair overtook you and the rush of joy was a mask for a lone, intimate cry for help only you could interprete? But nonetheless you found courage in the depth of your sickened heart when you arrived a sort of reception desk. If you were lucky, there may even be a phone that you could use to call some help! You knew you couldn't do anything else in your frail state, than to seek help for you and for all the potential victims in this place. And yet, a policeman was there, armed even, and he died in a horrible way, you thought while clutching the set of keys in your hand. While running down the halls on your own you thought about getting away by some of the exits: the main one, the fire exit, even by the parking lot, since you've been in possesion of most of the building's keys. But, to say the truth you were actually terrified you would run again into the masked killer, and that this time you would have nowhere to hide and no energy to run fast and long enough. You didn't even know what he was really capable of, what he could do to you... Plus the idea of running away in the outdoors, in the middle of the night, almost naked apart from a sheet-like hospital gown, sick and vulnerable, it didn't seemed like a good idea. At all. You would maybe even feel more exposed, fleeing in the open air, with the possibility of being observed and stalked from every corner. You prefered to remain well hidden than to run loose in an open field, perfectly visible while you couldn't cover all of your surroundings, only relying on your poor, drugged senses.

Slowly, you approached the desk, cautiously walking behind it with the intention of hiding yourself beneath it while calling for help again. Then, you saw something you instantly regretted, and all your hopes faded away. There, a few steps ahead of you, crouched a dark, lanky figure with its hands slightly moving in front of his face. Even crouched like this, it seemed... Tall. The silhouette, darkened by the ambient obscurity, had some sort of feral aura to it. Maybe, again, it was caused by the sickening, ripping sounds of meat that you now heard as you had neared the unknown beast. Beneath him lied the bloodied body of a woman, a nurse you thought, by seeing the crimson stained white outfit she was wearing.  
It bore a hole open on a wounded stomach, blood profusely oozing from the dent.  
  
For a moment, you felt completely paralysed. A rush of nausea washed over you, with the intense fear of being discovered accompanying it. Then, you thought about getting away discretly.  You had been so quiet that the killer didn't even notice you. He was to occupied with his victim. But you were facing some kind of dilemma. There, a few steps from you on the desk was sitting a cellphone, the very first you saw in the whole damn building...  
You had the choice of trying to get away quietly and only saving yourself, or to take advantage of the fact you hadn't been seen and take the phone before trying to get away AND having the chance to save some lives, since you didn't know for how long the murderer's rampage would go on... You choice seemed incredibly difficult to make in those circumstances, especially since you couldn't focus on anything, but the lifeless look the nurse's corpse gave you you when it was jerked a bit more open by the man above.   
  
Panic rising from the ambient risk of being discovered, you tried to steady your breath. You wanted to remain as invisible as you possibly could, scared to death and barely able to endure the tensed pain you had in your chest. You thought about the few people still awake at such an hour that have died just because they encountered this awful creature. You then thought about the people still sleeping that could be the next victims. New mothers and fragile souls they gave life to. Old grand-parents that loved their families and wished to wait before saying their last good-byes. Maybe even innocent children waiting to heal and be back up again to cheer up their friends and parents. You even thought about the rest of the staff, maybe some exhausted people slept somewhere between their services and would suffer a gruesome fate if they happened to wake up when the killer would pass by. To your anxiety mixed an odd feeling of sadness, piercing through you heart as you remembered the hard moments you had to bear while mourning the people you once loved, and that now were gone... Why would you selfishly run away if you had the possibility to avoid making more victims? Why would you play a coward's act while you've always insisted on being the bravest, most fearless and independant person you could? Why wouldn't you even try to save the rest of them all? The phone was right there, unmoving, waiting to be taken and used. Like you said, or thought, many times before, you had to try. Your eyes stinged again, the painful memories and self-blaming bringing tears back again. But now was not the time.   
  
Ever so quietly, you made a step, then another towards the phone lying idly on the desk, never leaving the killer out of your sight. By moving, you also managed to change the angle from which you saw the scene. You could see the crouched creature, hands to his face, something appearing to be his dark blue mask, slightly lifted up to reveal a mouth garnished of sharp teeth, chewing on something. It was eating something. Something red, drenched in blood, with some purple shades here and there. It was linked to the corpse by some slimy, fleshy link, dripping its crimson stains on the floor. A small pool of blood had also begun to form under the woman. Then it hit you. The gaze of the woman, it had followed you. 

She was not dead. She was  _dying._  
  
You gulped. Of course you couldn't do anything to help her. You wished you could, honestly. You wished your could help her and everybody in this damned place. You wished you could free her from the world of pain she was in... She suffered so much that she didn't even had the strengh to whimper, let alone tremble from the agonizing torture she was going through. It was almost like you could see life slowly escaping her, to her relief. The more she bled, the more her eyes got dim and sparkless. Not even a sigh escaped her, as you progressively saw her pupil dilate.   
You couldn't do anything. You simply felt powerless.   
  
Incapable to watch more of this, you resigned to go after the phone and leave. Cautiously, you made your way to the device, making sure you wouldn't slip on the blood sticking to your feet from the past murder scene you've crossed. One step after another, you neared the phone with a growing hope to get it safely, and never come back after this. Your feet were slippery. But you needed to concentrate. You felt like it was your only chance. Seconds were passing like hours and you weren't sure if only you could hear the loud pounding of you heart against your chest. You were in front of the desk. You took a peak behind your shoulder to see the profile of the killer, still not noticing your presence. Good.   
You extended your arm and, with a painfully slow pace, grasped the cellphone. You lifted it. Not a sound, aside from the wet noises behind you, were to be heard. You could do this, you repeated to yourself. You could do this...  
  
The set of keys firmly grasped in one hand, the cellphone in your other hand, hovering above the desk. You stopped moving. You had the device. Your other hand was keeping the keys from tinkling against each other. You were ready to leave. However, something was off. Veryoff **.** You heard nothing, silence had drowned you, completely. Why was it so quiet suddenly?   
You felt like you had a heavy weight in your stomach. Silently gasping for much needed oxygen, you slowly, so slowly, turned around. 

 

He saw you.  
  
  
  
  
  
Your heart skipped a beat and seemed to stop for a good moment. Somewhat, you desperately tried to convince yourself that you've saw it wrong. That you  _thought_  you saw him looking at you. That if you focused a bit more you would see him devouring his victim again, completely ignoring you. Yet, he was staring at you without making a sound, nor a move, his unexpressive mask put down again. You didn't even hear him breath, didn't see his ribcage heaving and dropping slightly like a normal being would. There was only his eyeless stare boring into you like it could pierce a hole through you chest and soul. As unmoving as a statue, he reminded you with dread of a predator observing a prey, ready to attack at any moment. You were frightened like you've never been before...   
You gasped when you heard a deep growl emanating from him, and you most basic instincts screamed at you to run. To run far away and never turn around. _To r_ _un like in your dreams and to save yourself at any price._ Unfortunately, your legs had trouble obeying. Taking a couple of steps back, you tried to steady yourself on your trembling legs while staring at the killer with a shaky, panicked breath. You shook your head. You didn't want to die, you needed to go away, why your body was responding in such a frustrating way?!  
  
The darkened silhouette in front of you slowly got up while you tried to back up, still staring at you without flickering. You made a step back again and slipped on the blood staining your naked feet. A surprised whimper escaped you, and was cut short when the fall knocked the breath out of you. You tried to gasp the air back as fast as you could, pushing through the inexisant plug in your throat, while keeping your items firmly grasped in each of your hands. You felt a sore pain spreading in your backside in only a few seconds, making it hard to move corretcly.   
The figure swiftly approached you with the pace of a hunter, never ceasing to watch you once. You desperately tried to crawl back, in vain. He circled you, gazing down upon you, and gave a violent kick into your arm, the one holding the cellphone. You gave pained cry while your hand relased the object. You could only helplessly watch as his foot rose in the air, and smashed it to useless pieces before lazily burshing them to the opposite side. You tried to get up with the intention to leave, still vainly hoping that destroying the phone would distract him for a few seconds. But you realized how much you were wrong when one of his foot instantly crushed in your chest at the slightest of your movements. Your other hand let go of the key, which fell on the ground with a clicking, loud noise. Instinctively, you grasped his ankle and tired to move his foot, or at least to lessen the weight he was putting in it.   
  
The pressure grew, and it became harder and harder to breath while you felt your ribs being pushed against your lungs. Panting, you glanced at him pleadingly. You didn't dare to say a single word, like you feared he would pounce on you and devour you alive if you made a single sound. You jumped a bit when you heard a sudden, rumbling noise escaping through the mask of your attacker, chuckling with his deep, low-pitched voice. Then, he spoke, turning his head to the side like he studied you features with some sort of incomprehension.  
  
" **So, aren't you the smart one who tried to escape, huh ?** "  
  
You could only stare at him towering over you, not knowing what to do to dissuade him or to convince him to let you go. The pressure of his foot increased.   
  
" **You thought you could fool me?**   **You thought you could escape me, didn't you...?** "  
  
He bent down towards you, his feet leaving your chest so he could kneel above you. He quickly grabbed the hem of your gown, and violently jerked you up toward his masked face. He didn't even had to bend down, and by the iron grip he had on your shirt, you immediatly felt that he was a lot stronger than what you first thought. The back of your neck was hurting because of the clothe digging into your muscles, said muscles uncomfortably twisted by the pressure combined to the weight of your head. He lowered his face closer to you, and you heard him inhale sharply.   
  
" **Humans are so naive... You reek of blood, your covered in** **it"** , he whispered lowly in your ear, **"Even if you escaped, I would smell your scent ten miles away. And track you down would be a childplay...!** "  
  
A violent shiver ran down your spine. His proximity, the rumbling within his eerie voice... You felt vulnerable, in danger. You struggled, trying to get away, but it only seemed to amuse him. I was a frustrating, dreadful feeling to have your hands free, pushing them on the shoulders and the torso of the stranger above you, and seeing him not move an inch as you put all your efforts into your vain attempts of freeing yourself. The lack of control, it was slowly _killing_ _you..._  He came closer again, approaching his masked face to the crook of your neck, and inhaled again. You cringed, tears spilling from your eyes.   
  
" **Especially with your blood... It smell so strong, so sweet... It's intoxicating..."** he growled, his voice rumbling in deeper tones at his last words, as if bloodlust had awoke deeper instincts within him.  
  
"S-Stop it, you sick fuck...I-I'll kill you if you touch me...!" you dared to finally respond, disgusted. You couldn't find the strengh to lay idly and let yourself be handled this way. The shadow of a hidden fury was apparent in you voice, ever so slightly covered by an ounce of despair. But you were tired, your voice felt so weak. You intimately wondered if anyone but you had heard your plea.  
  
Unfortunately, you realized how your remark hadn't gone unherad, and how much of a stupid idea it was to show your anger and your despise towards the killer, as an erratic breath was raising in the crook of your neck. You knew it wasn't a good sign when someone,  _anyone,_ couldn't control themselves that much that they even had trouble breathing calmly. The rising panting near your ear, the feral trembling within his windpipes, slightly becoming a deep growl, it wasn't good at all. The gloved hands griping your gown were slightly shaking, and the man slowly rose like an ominous shadow above you. Your breathing had quickened too under the panic rapidly growing, and your trembling was nothing but fear towards him. It was fear that drowned your senses when you stared at those pitch black, lifeless holes boring through you. A pang of disgust rose, and you shuddered when you felt a gooey, ice cold liquid dripping beneath your eye and on your cheek. It was the black matter dropping from his mask. It reminded you of the muddy, filthy water you would find in a swamp, but it felt acidic against your skin, stinging your face like a horde of gnawing particles. You turned your face to the side, frowning, and rising your shoulder to protect your neck, scared of being bitten or something similar.   
  
He suddenly pushed your into the ground, violently knocking your skull against the cold, hard floor. You didn't even have the time to feel the dull pain in the back of your head, when you felt his hand flying at you, swinging to strike you full force into the face. You whimpered, the slap felt like taking a stinging punch, whipping through the air and roughly turning your head to your other side. The movement was forced by the strike, you felt it when your tensed neck painfully twisted. Then, the same dark gloved hand that slapped you, forcefully grabbed your jaw, its palm pressing on your lips so your mouth was kept shut, and turned your head so you would be facing the terrifying beast. He had got closer, and you could smell the awful odour of death emanating from him, wrinkling your nose and bearing it without a word. Slightly muffled by the dark blue mask, you heard it again, the rumbling, cynical laugh he made, seeming pleased.   
  
**"Being feisty is not a good option right now you idiot. Although, I appreciate combative preys. They're so much less boring than weeping cowards, who sit idly waiting for a painless death. How ironic, don't you think? They're the ones who usually suffer the most and die the slowest."** he said, turning to look at the nurse's cadaver lying on the puddle of her own blood. Then, he turned to you again, and you could hear him grinning in the way a talked:   
  
**"Unfortunately for you, I've got a liking for your flesh, and for..."** He inhaled again, unaturally twisting his head to the side again, studying you with a strange sort of lust.  **"...For the way you express pain... And fear..."**

You start to repeat his ominous words in your head, their sense becoming more obvious and freaking you out as you figured what he meant in your foggy mind. Shaking your head, you find yourself unable to believe him, or to believe whatever is happening right now. You don't want to believe it. You deny it, momentarily. It couldn't be possible. You couldn't be tortured longer than the other, right? You were going to get away, maybe with a few scratches... but you won't get to be mutilated, right? Your attention disperse, and you only wake up when you feel your attacker shifting, placing a knee between your legs and spreading them.  _'What is happening...?'_ you groggily thought.  _You don't want that..._  
You start to struggle, but you're weak. Not tired like before. It's worse. What's happening? When did you become like this? When has the medicine started to wear off...? Your strength seems to be slipping away from you. His hand travel swiftly from your mouth to your neck. You lick your lips, they have the atrocious taste of dirty leather and rotting blood. You then feel his leathery glove press on your throat, dangerously restricting your ability to breath correctly. You grasp at his hand, vainly trying to losen his grip on you as you struggle to go away. He doesn't seem affected by your actions in any way, save for an occasional push on your windpipe telling you to stop moving, or he'll kill you without an ounce of remorse. While doing so, he dug his free hand in one of his pockets, and pulled out a thin, glistening object. Your vision started to blur because of your tears and the lack of oxygen you suffered. You had the unpleasant sensation to have something throbbing behind your eyes, and you felt a dull stinging in your lips and all the bottom of your face, mostly because of the restrained veins in your throat. You also felt lightheaded, and your grip on the man's hand losened gradually. You _needed_ to breath. You were going to loose consciousness, and then God knows what atrocities you could undergo. Your tears ran down your face to the ground, and you fianlly saw with what the killer was fidgeting with. Swiftly rolling between his long fingers was a the dirty scalpel. You couldn't see precisely if the reddish stains garnishing the handle and the edge of the razor sharp blade were rust or dried blood, but it certainly wasn't a good sign either way. 

A furious desire to beg him to let you go washed over you. Deep inside, you knew it wouldn't be of any use, but your instincts seemingly took their toll. The lack of breath was becoming threatening, and your stomach began to progressively hurt. It was worse than anything you could have ever imagined. When you tried to open your mouth, at least _to try_ and say something to discourage the eyeless monster facing you, only a broken sob escaped your mouth. You instantly closed your mouth, and pressed your teeth together with so much force you felt you could break them, while a new rush of tears surfaced to burn you eyes and roll freely on your face. As strange as it could seem, you felt ashamed for crying out loud like this. You honestly wished you'd howl in fierce rage, fighting to stay alive, clawing and kicking in a violent demonstration of how bad you felt about not being in control; about being abused like a  _fucking_ toy. But no. You were just this sick little puppy who suffocated on the ground, still so afraid to die. You almost pitied yourself. 

**" Oh no, no, no... None of that now kid! We haven't begun yet"** , he began in a seemingly soothing tone, gliding the blade along your cheek in a delicate gesture and then flicking the instrument with enough speed and pressure to draw a significant amount of blood, before continuing in a much darker, twisted deep voice.

  **"I'm going to make of this night a lasting, painful, and very intimate nightmare. I'm going to break you from the inside, exploit every single fears you have. And when I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to kill you..."**  
  
  
With his armed hand, he then extended his three last fingers and placed them on his mask. His fingers were smudging the black goo running on it, as a new wave of the dark tears bubbled out of his sockets to run down the night blue surface. He pushed the mask up a bit to reveal again a grinning maw, loopsided to show your his ranges of sharp, blood stained fangs. Your eyes widened at the sight of this disturbing smile. It looked way more like a used bear trap than a smile. All around his mouth, the skin was of a bizarre greyish color, like a darkened corpse's skin, his lips being only slightly darker.

**"And the funniest part of it is that you'll get to see..."** he lowered his hand again, and slid it up  underneath your gown, while the scalpel was held flat between his fingers. He started at the top of your knee, gliding in a slight touch on your thigh, slowing a bit at your trembling hips. 

**  
"To feel..."** , he continued to trail up your shaking body, and you felt the ghostly, cold touch of the side-turned metal blade going up on your skin, giving you gooesbumps. The slight sensation, like an hovering, ice cold needle, was contrasting with the warmth of leathery hands wandering now on your stomach. 

  
**"...E v e r y t h i n g"** he finally concluded while hovering closer to you.   
  
A chill ran down your spine when cold air hit your thighs, your stomach and your core through your underwear, when the killer abruptly lifted the thin hospital gown covering you. Your first reflex was to try to cover yourself, crossing your arm in front of you and trying to press your legs together despite the lower body of your attacker being in the way. Earlier, even if the material was thin and barely protecting you from anything, you somewhat felt like it was the only barrier between you and the outside world. At least you felt covered in it. But now that you were stripped down, the fabric being almost torn away from you, you felt more vulnerable and humiliated than ever. Then, when the man restraining you bent down and neared his face towards your stomach, you began to trash furiously, clawing vainly at the firm hand holding your throat shut, and shouting breathless threats despite the pure dread rising.   
  
"N-No! Stop it...! I-I swear to god-", a sudden hiccup shook your chest and you throat, painfully making its way through the unmoving grasp pressing your neck. "You're g-oing to pay, _pig_! I _swear_ if you touch me...-"

But you couldn't finish your sentence. Twisting down his body in an uncanny way, he bent his head to the side. You saw with horror how his sharp-cutting teeth parted with hunger and  closed around you, powerless. He bit down hard on your side, just beneath your last rib. You gasped in a moment of pure shock, and he took the opportunity to entwine your waist with his arms, relentlessly tightening his jaws and never letting you go. As you began to feel distinctively his pointy teeth sinking down into your flesh, and a warm, thick substance suddenly flowing from your side, you began to panic. This sudden rise of adrenaline awakened your senses and a powerful, slicing pain shot through at least the half of your torso. You suddenly heard a blood chilling scream echo through the halls, but soon realised it was your own voice, drowned in pain and sorrow. You screamed and cried out loudly, and started to strive to free yourself, trashing with everything you had. But as the embrace of your attacker tightened around, you quickly understood it was useless to no extend. Tears were now dripping profusely, as desperate sobs escaped you. At this point you couldn't even refrain yourself. Your agony was raw, breaking you apart without any mercy. ' _And it was only the beginning...'_ were you thinking bitterly in the mess that was forming your suffering mind, as a heave formed in your churning stomach. You felt your blood beginning to crawl behind your back, soaking the lifted clothe under one of your shoulder blades. There wasn't enough to form a real puddle, but the amount freaked you out as the thick trail was going up your spine. For a bite, even with the strong pain, you didn't expect it to slice through your veins that deeply. It disgusted you, and you were definitely terrified to be mutilated. Through the instant that passed, the sharp teeth sinking more and more in you flesh became a bit more discreet, and left place to the feeling of his tongue sliding on your wound. You weren't aware of this feeling before, submerged by your pain, but now that it became a bit more numb you could distinguish from the burning ache of his bite, the distinct wet feeling of the moist appendage caressing and playing with the multiple, deep marks he left on you. The movements of his tongue against you, albeit still excruciating, left you with the disturbing sensation of a subtle sensuality. You couldn't understand why, but you could _sense_ his hunger when he licked, drank and _tasted_ the savours of your blood. He wasn't careful, he was rough, insistent and yet, it seemed that he somehow knew what he was doing, and that he enjoyed more than ever to see you agonizing, writhing under him.  
  
“Please… I can't take it anymore….” you wheezed, your voice left broken after you cried and screamed so much. The pain was still present, raw and unforgiving. But no energy was left to struggle, you could only stay tensed, pushing vainly against his tight grasp. But none of your words reached him. It seemed that he was deaf to your pleas and cries. And it killed you to see how little control you had. _No… You had no control at all, you were doomed.  
  
_ Finally, after what seemed to be hours of pain, his jaw started to relax, slowly releasing your side to let your blood flow freely on your skin to the ground. You exhaled in relief, even if it you knew it wouldn't be the end. It was more of an instinctive thing. You felt his tongue slide one last time against your side and couldn't help but to cringe loudly in apparent disgust. He snickered while rising, almost mockingly:  
  
“ **Come on, I know I made you feel** _ **something.**_ **I heard your heart beating in this certain way, I** _ **felt**_ _ **it…**_ **You can't fool me, the way you sweated, the ways you cried, that way you writhed under my touch… I know humans more than you know yourself, and I know just as certainly...** ” he made a disturbing pause, showing you his newly bloodied fangs as he got closer to you, grinning like a madman.  
“ **...That my touch hasn't left you indifferent at all.”  
  
** You couldn't bear his words, not because of the insidious vulgarity of them, a bit because you felt accused, but overall because he was _right_. You felt horrible. You felt dirty. But you knew that he was right, and that even if your only wish right now was to run away and never go out again, you couldn't honestly deny that the way his tongue had moved against your skin was not only a source of pain. And you hated yourself for it, wondering why you would… Why you _could_ feel those sensations in such a situation. Maybe madness was beginning to crawl upon you, dimming your sanity to help you go through the experience?  
However, you couldn't say it out loud, especially not in front of _this monster…_  Even if you despised him, you knew it wasn't a good idea to let him know what you thought of him, not only because he happened to be violent, but also because you knew increasing his aggression when he swore to torture you all night before killing you wasn't good. So, facing your helplessness, you could only stay silent and glare at him, your hatred burning in your eyes, bracing yourself for what would happen next. You tried to calm down, vainly, and to try your hardest to get out alive if you could. Even when hope left you, you couldn't let yourself bleed to death. Knowing that pushing against the man was futile, you pressed your two hand on the wound on your side, trying to stop it from bleeding to profusely. The pressure moved your sore flesh and you whimpered as your nerves made the flaming pain shoot through your ribs. You cowered as you continued to press the bleeding wound nonetheless, determined. You heard the killer laugh at you deeply, like he knew all of this was pointless.  
  
“ **That's cute. But** **it will only delay your death a bit, so if I were you I wouldn't hope too much...”  
**

You suddenly felt the sharp, cold edge of the scalpel he still held being pressed under your chin, and you froze despite the pain around your ribs. The pressure wasn't as high as to wound you, but it felt like an order. Like he didn't want you to hide from him now. He pressed the blade so you would raise your head and unfold your bloody, curled up body. _He wanted to see what he had inflicted to you, and what more he could do to damage you further._

You couldn't fight it, sensing the blade slowly sinking into your skin, almost drawing blood. Still, you felt that mixed up emotions were fighting through your mind. Disgust, shame, anger, fear, hesitation, curiosity, guilt even. You just… Didn't know what was the right emotion, what was right to feel and what was wrong on the other hand. You knew that you hated the killer, that you feared him, of course. But the confusion, the pain, the sickness and the foul odour of blood all around you had made your mind dizzy, unclear. It was like being drunk with dread, seeing the world clearer than you ever had, but having no marks whatsoever.  
  
You felt sick. Helpless. It was eating you from the inside.  
  
A harsh tug on the hem of the already lifted up, half torn gown you were wearing, managed to wake you up, and you glanced at your abuser with silent disdain. But it seemed that you had less effect than ever on him, as he didn't even seem to hear or see you. He whispered inaudibly, almost for himself:

“ **Finally...** ”

His tone, strangely, was pretty melancholic. Like… He seemed to remember something. The whisper was dark, maybe darker than his normal voice. He spoke like he knew you, like he had waited to see you _again_ for a long time. You didn't understand. Why such a strange detail could hit you so hard? You couldn't know why, but you also remembered this other phrase: ' I know humans more than you know yourself...”

Why did it struck you like that, precisely at this moment?  
  
You didn't have the opportunity to ponder it more, as the killer started to cut your gown with his scalpel. You, on the other hand, abandoned the idea to try to run away or to defend yourself, as it was proven by your many past and futile attempts to be at least difficult, if not impossible. You focused on _vital_ things. If he did something to dangerous, you would react. But right now you were pretty greedy about the energy that was left in you. You had to be cautious. While your gown was destroyed by him, remaining clothe spread to your sides, you focused on keeping your hand firmly clasped around your side, which was wrapped in an already blood soaked piece of clothe. Even so focused, you couldn't help but to feel incredibly vulnerable, and also humiliated by the lack of barrier between you and the killer. You felt uneasy, you desperately wanted to hide.

 

He bent down, and parted again his jaws like a shark ready to attack. You jumped, gasping at him and trying to back down. You feared that he would bite you again… Maybe he would try to kill you by eating you alive? This seemed more than painful… Your wiggling was stopped when he forcefully pinned your neck and one of your shoulders to the ground, and approached his mouth to the side of your throat. Your trembling never stopped and you closed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for a new wave of pain… But it never came. Instead, you felt his fangs grazing at your skin like he wanted to bite down, his warm breath tickling the crook of your neck and making you wince when you noticed how it reeked of blood and death. He licked the side of your neck, tasting the salt of your stress induced sweat and the delicate softness of your pale, untouched skin. When you heard him grunt in some sort of sick pleasure, you cringed, disturbed. It really unsettled you to see, to _feel_ him using you as a tool for his own pleasure. 

You wished you could run away.

You then felt his lips, moist with what you guessed to be blood and spit, closing around your soft spot as he began to suck greedily. His teeth were so sharp that even by just sucking and gnawing lightly at your skin, he could draw small pearls of blood that grew, joined and ran down your neck. You genuinely did your best to keep any cries or whimpers from escaping your throat, whether they were from pain or something else. You just desperately prayed you could remain completely silent. It was so much more convenient to still have your self-esteem despite all of this… You clenched your teeth to keep silent, and shut your eyes closed to ignore the best you could the invading, almost tickling sensations in your neck, as a heave rose again in your stomach. However, you snapped and whimpered when blood mixed with his acidic, dark, gooey tears. It was leaking on your skin, running down and caressing your nerves with its burning path. You tried to wiggle your way out of his tightening jaws, only to have him progressively biting you more and more like a wolf would bit down on its preyed rabbit. Tears rolled down your cheeks again, as you felt how your blood ran down your neck and behind your head, thickened by the oozing, black matter it was mixed up with. Although, you couldn't make abstraction of the way his tongue slid and caressed your now bruised, sensitive skin. All of its movements were tainted by hunger, _carnal_ hunger, like a wild lust that he failed to contain, and your cries only seemed too excite his hunter's instincts. He then stopped, slowly getting his fangs out of your skin, and scrapped his teeth on your now wounded flesh, running his tongue on the spot and tasting the blood again.  
  
You were now breathing frantically, trying desperately to slow down your pounding heart. Your fear began to combine with the warm feelings of longing and desire, not in your head but more in the reactions of your body. _'Stay focused, you'll survive. Don't cry out loud or he will kill you...It's painful…'_ , those thoughts turned in a loop in your head, as you tried hard not to think about what he was doing to you. The way his tongue glided on your skin, it...It had an abnormal size. It seemed long, too long, like a reptile's tongue. You winced each times it passed the bite he made on your neck. It wasn't as profound as the previous wound, but it was hurting nonetheless, slightly stinging and burning with the black goo all around it. You worried… What if it was poison? Maybe even by preserving yourself the best you could from him you would die anyway… You sensed, this night more than ever, that you actually feared death, its pain, and the terrifying state of unconsciousness that accompanied it. However, it felt strange to have such morbid thoughts while you felt him lick fascinating patterns on the skin of your neck, which was sensitive to every single one of his intentions. You were trapped, wounded, and pinned to the ground by a ghastly cannibal beast… And yet, you found a way the feel, to almost appreciate those subtle sensations.  
You felt wicked, reckless. Disgusted.

You never let go of your bleeding side, and only let escape a breath of desperation when he started to descend toward your chest. A tremor shook you when he licked along your clavicle, before escaping a twisted chuckle.  
  
“ **You aren't getting** **worked up** **already, are you…?** **I thought we were only getting started…** “  
  
“Fuck you...”  
  
It was the first and only thing you clearly allowed yourself to say clearly since a certain time. It felt just natural to express it, to manifest your pain into simple, vague and insulting words. But you weren't prepared for the blow when he caught one of your ankles, and snarled at you angrily:  
  
“ **...I told you being feisty wasn't good...”  
  
** He then started to press more and more on the articulation, as you saw him clenching his teeth in fury. You began to feel a painful pull on your tendons, and heard your bones creak slightly. Panic began to rise again, as you feared the incoming pain.  
  
“No...No! No, please, stop! Stop it...STOP! “, you started to scream, desperate to not feel him hurt you. You even tried to get up despite everything in your organism protesting, only to be pinned down again by a powerful grip strangling your already bruising throat.  
  
Your eyes widened, your teeth clenched too hard, and your felt your heart stop beating, almost literally, as you heard a sickly loud cracking sound pierce trough the air to reach your ears. There was a short wavering, before, a wave of racking pain submerged your leg. It wasn't sharp, nor burning. It was crushing. A crushing, destroying pain that gave you the impression that a bullet was shot through your leg. You screamed in pure agony, even hurting your throat in the mean time. After some minutes although, when the grip of the man lessened, you felt your leg go numb. But it scared you, it was a strange sort of dullness that invaded your ankle. You really didn't feel like putting any weight on this limb. You wanted it untouched, and you knew that a single pressure could ignite the exploding pain in it. You were crying again, and you felt sick when his hand slid along that same, unmoving leg to caress your hip. The reminiscence of your pain still present, you just clenched your side again, trembling like a leaf, defeated.  
  
You sighed, distressed when you felt his hardened crotch firmly grind on your parts. He still hadn't let go of your neck, and he now seemed to enjoy crude time with you. When he saw you react, he didn't say anything, only chuckled in a scornful fashion. You wanted to kill him. Although, your desire to end his life contradicted with the almost pleasant wetness in your most private areas. _Stay alive, you've come so far…_ _Please don't give in..._

Your grasp around your bleeding stomach didn't weaken, as you vainly tried to ignore the burning, sweet stimulation in your lower regions as he rubbed roughly against you. You felt ashamed, too ashamed to concentrate on anything.  
  
However, you gulped and bit your tongue to refrain from trying to punch him when he took his scalpel back, and cut your underwear to have a more direct access to your intimacy. You were already sick, with two bleeding bites and a broken ankle; trying to give a punch in this state would probably just get you to fail miserably and get you into more troubles. You were at a loss regarding what to do. Maybe you couldn't avoid this rape, and you were going to live with it for the rest of your life… You felt a pinch to your heart at the thought, and a tear rolled against your already damp cheeks. You closed your eyes, and focused on anything else but his hands, mostly on your wounds. But you still had your nerves, and they seemed to refuse to collaborate, as you distinctively sensed his hand caressing your navel with a ghostly touch. Chills ran down your spine as said hand began to travel south, slowly reaching down to your now bare parts. The cold around you, as well as your vulnerability, made the area even more sensitive. It unnerved you, scared, and infuriated you to feel so distinctively how his warm hand, albeit still gloved, would awake such sparks of sweet sensations deep down within you. He never stopped staring at you, looking for the smallest of shifts in your expression. But he apparently knew how to manipulate your intimacy, as he easily found his way inside of you, pressing forcefully two long fingers in all their length without consideration. You involuntarily gasped at the gesture, your muscles contracting around the intrusion, which wasn't as painful as you first would have thought thanks to natural body reflexes to lubricate any entrance. Still, despite the slightly pleasant tickling in the pit of your stomach, and the warmth invading your inferior parts, you could also feel a knot in your throat, as your mind stagnated in incomprehension, disturbed by his actions. Then, he curled his fingers upwards and rubbed greedily against you, and you felt the blade under your chin being pressed harder against your skin. Panting, you dared to open your eyes, only to see he has gotten closer. All traces of mocking gone, he asked in a deep and grumbling voice, soaked in a sort of perverse sadism, his head slightly tilted as he seemed to stare into your eyes and soul:  
  
“ **Tell me,** **little one, do you fear me…?** ”

  
You didn't know how to respond at the sudden question, still dizzy, and confused by his fingers still moving between your tight muscles. He weirded you out, and you were scared of him, of his violence, of his cruelty, and of course of his dangerous tendency to try to eat people alive. His mocking hurt you, as well as the abuse he enjoyed to make you going through. You couldn't bear the way he liked to hurt you, to wound you and to drive you insane, just for fun… Yes, you were completely terrified by him, and you wouldn't stay a second with him if you had the choice. Everything, from his imposing form to his ruthlessness, with his unnatural behaviour and his abnormal physical traits, had you trembling from head to toes. You wondered if you could still try to lie to him, as well as to yourself, and tell him that you weren't scared of him. Only you renounced when you felt the ghost of his hot breath near your nipples, as well as a firm press at that one spot inside of you, that made you clench your teeth hard so you wouldn't moan. You heard a low purring from him that made you shiver:  
  
“ **So…?** “

  
“I-I'm… scared of you...I'm terrified, I-it's unbearable...” you whispered breathlessly, stuttering, and your voice trembling as you made your best to remain quiet.  
  
“ **...Good. Now shut up and take it silently before you die.** ”  
  
_Take...Take it? Take what…?_ You stared at him with horror, almost forgetting the profusely bleeding wound on your side, as a painful sadness compressed your heart and your throat. You felt his finger retreat, and slide up and down your sensitive parts, coating you with your own fluids. You didn't want this to happen, you were so scared. You even tried to crawl away, before the cannibal staring at you flicked his scalpel at your chest, cutting a straight gash just under your clavicle. The gesture was threatening, and you knew that if you tried to go away again he would catch you and cut a deeper gash higher on your throat. He then managed to grab one of you legs, fortunately the one which wasn't injured, and drag you closer to him. As he bent down, you felt him put his other hand one the ground, leaving his scalpel by your side, not quite near you. You then saw him fidgeting with the top of his pants, and pull them down. You closed your eyes, and turned your head away, embarrassed. Then, you felt the tip of his member pushing against you entrance, and you felt a wave of nausea roll back again. You knew it would hurt. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, as you felt nothing he had done before could have prepared you to this. He grabbed your hips firmly, and then ever so slowly pushed his way inside of you, stretching you to what you quickly thought was your limit, filling you easily. You were crying as silently as you could, and one of your bloodied hand clenched around your mouth so you would remain quiet. You really didn't want to hear your voice, not right now…  
  
Cold drops of his coal coloured tears dripped on your naked stomach, biting at your skin as the darkened flow from his empty eyes never stopped. You felt your slick walls being stretched, your nerves panicking and sending pain through all your insides. You saw how the killer's muscles tensed as he entered your shaking form with a contented grunt. Your mind felt fuzzy, and your insides were hurting. You couldn't distinguish the deep pain of your appendicitis from the blurry ache between your legs, as it just seemed to form a sore heap in the area of your stomach. He then began to thrust, the slick rubbing awakening a feeling of lust that felt sweet, yet acrid. It seemed somewhat distant. The massive shaft hit the farthest part of you, and you couldn't help but to let out a whimper that had gone unheard, or simply ignored by your abuser. Thrusts after thrusts, his movements only seemed to become more erratic and sloppy, as he began to near his edge. A silent moan was caught in your throat at the overwhelming sensation. However, you felt consciousness progressively slipping away from you. You had fought so hard, and you had such a difficult time...You were tired. You felt the killer leaning on you, embracing your limp form as he fucked you senseless, not caring that you became as weak as a rag doll. The ache in your stomach was still growing, but it apparently didn't stop you from slowly loosing foot with reality. Your whole body began to feel numb, and a throbbing pain in your head returned. Your vision was rocked by the quick thrust of the man, and you could just glance aimlessly at your surroundings, gradually becoming less and less precise.  
  
You suddenly felt the thrusts stop, as a distant sound of tires screeching was heard outside. He raised his head towards a nearby window, and muttered nonchalantly:  
  
“ **Shit, the cops… Who called them ?!** ”

  
He then retreated his member, getting it finally out of your damp, sore core before quickly dressing again. Light-headed and unsure, you saw a glimpse of the scalpel next to you, and decided to take your chance as he was distracted, before you couldn't move at all. Your arm reached discreetly at the blade by your side, while you thought you heard running footsteps outside, not far away from the building. When you gripped it, you made a vengeful, silent sigh, and gathered what was left within you to survive to briefly lounge at the cannibal monster and stab him in the stomach. You grasped his shoulder, and plunged the blade deep in his side with a single, strong thrust before feeling your fingers involuntarily relax around the handle, the scalpel leaving your hand. When he was stabbed, you just heard the guy grunting a curse and pressing one of his hands on his sides, before your vision started to dim. You fell on the cold floor, and everything became completely numb. You were unable to move, and your eyes just rolled back into your skull as you lost all consciousness, your senses drowning in a deep state of slumber.

  
~ ~ ~

 

_Echoes. Distant, muffled voices were echoing through your mind.  
  
“What…-me here, we have a…”  
  
Where were they coming from? You didn't know how much time passed between each words, and you felt absent. Like you witnessed the world moving without being there.  
  
“…-not dead yet, go an-….”  
  
You wondered what was happening, and why you were suffering so much…_

 

“… _-all the blood, it's-...”  
  
“Who called-...”  
  
“…-being sick and hel-...”  
  
Bits of phrases, of words even, where scattered in your mind without any logical order. You couldn't articulate your mind correctly, and your thoughts didn't make any sense. You wished you were dreaming, but the dream seemed endless, and strange. You fell back into the darkness again.  
_

_  
_ ~ ~ ~

 

The regular beeping seemed deafening when, eyes still closed, you felt your mind surfacing rapidly from a world of dreams, like when you jump from the depths of the water to reach the surface and breath again. You slowly opened your eyes as you felt tired, your neck bent to the side and slightly hurting because of the odd angle. You felt a weight around your mouth, and an elastic circling your head. An oxygen mask. The air blowing on your mouth and nose was ice cold, as you gladly breathed some fresh air. You took a peak at yourself, trying to raise your head with difficulty. By moving, you felt sticking patches being deformed on your torso, as well as a clip on the finger of one of your hands, and a small needle in the back of the other. You had several plasters on different parts of your body, and a hard, heavy plaster cast around your ankle. Painful memories came back to you, and you squeezed your eyes to chase them. The night. The hollow-eyed monster chasing and hurting you. The deep sense of dread you experienced for the first time of your life, as a feral, instinctive feeling. You were preyed upon for being awake in the wrong place and at the wrong time, and the thought still terrified you. The remnants of your past fear clung to you, despite your desire to just move on. You were safe, but you still felt your heart pounding, and your mind was still alarmed. _Was it going to last…_?  
  
You weakly turned your head to glance around the room, which seemed to be another recovery room with only a couple of people still asleep. The morning daylight flooded the place, blinding you. You also somewhat felt relief, because you felt alive. You were breathing, aching, and tired, but so alive. You had escaped. Although, you really thought it was your end. You really wondered what had saved you, it really seemed like a lost cause, you even felt yourself let go that night, giving in to despair and almost abandoning the choice of life to embrace a near death. You suddenly heard a surprised gasp beside you, and saw a nurse looking at you with wide eyes, not really knowing what to do, and apparently hesitating on whether she should approach you or not. Maybe she was just checking on the patients and she did not expect you to wake up. You made your best to smile at her, not wanting to scare her away. You craved social contact now, especially since the only contact you had lastly was with people who were now dead, and a cynical psychopath that raped and tortured you, then tried to kill you. You laughed weakly, trying to get the nurse to relax a bit:  
  
“Ha ha...You know… I don't bite...What happened, please…? “, you said, your voice unexpectedly hoarse and broken. Geez, you really sounded tired, and even a bit sad.  
  
“I-Someone is waiting for you outside, miss… It's a police officer, I think he can explain everything better than me… Are you feeling well enough to talk with him a bit while I go seek a doctor? You can go back to sleep if you wa-”  
  
“NO...!”, you cut off the nurse while jumping slightly, not wanting to be alone again. Then, you felt a bit guilty for your sudden shout, thinking you were rude, or maybe overreacting to a simple clueless nurse, said nurse that jumped a bit at your reaction, confused.

“...I mean… I want to know what happened. Sorry, I… I just want to speak to him. He can come I guess...” You were still tired, but you knew the curiosity coupled with the lack of answers would keep you from sleeping, and being alone with your thoughts right now wasn't a wise choice. She just nodded, silently walking out of the room and leaving the door ajar. You heard her calm voice speaking quietly, then a few blurred words from a more masculine voice, equally unclear and quiet. Then, the door moved and you saw a man entering and nearing your bed. You tried to raise your stance a bit, not wanting to appear so weak and sick. The man, apparently in his mid 40's, had a brown leather coat with an orange armband on one of his arms, dark hair and a bit of beard on his chin and cheeks, like he hasn't had the time to shave since quite a few times. He stopped at the end of your bed, planting himself in front of you. He seemed jaded and tired, his dark eyes scanning you a bit. Then, he asked:  
  
“Good morning. I'm David Wright, I'm from the police, form the Investigation Team more precisely. I won't bother your rest very long, I just need to talk a bit with you, and maybe answer your questions. First, are you okay? Do you remember anything that happened? ”

  
His voice was pretty deep and hoarse, like someone who had smoked a bit too much. You furrowed a bit your brows, trying to remain focus on what he said to you. Apparently, you were stuffed with different kinds of medicine and painkillers, or so you thought feeling your mind wasn't the clearest.  
  
“Last night? … Yes, I remember. “, you simply answered, before seeing the police officer furrowing his brows too.  
  
“Er… First news, you didn't sleep just a night. It has been two days...”  
  
Your eyes widened, and you found yourself loosing your marks again. What day was it, what happened? When you just kept silent, and under a bit of shock, the officer continued:  
  
“But don't worry, you were just sleeping in this hospital. Now, I need you to concentrate and to answer me precisely, for the sake of this investigation. After that I will answer every question you have...”, he stuffed his hand in his pocket, and took out a notebook, and a pen.  
“Right, can we begin? “  
  
You nodded, keeping quiet for now.  
  
“Ok, do you remember you attacker?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What did he look like ?”  
  
“He...” You gulped. Remembering was painful, but you had to do it. You were desperate for answers.  
“It was a man, not very old I think. He had a mask on his face, just plain with two holes for the eyes. It was a dark blue mask, and I didn't see his eyes. The holes were just...Dark and empty. And leaking a black liquid too. I think he was hooded but I'm not sure, I guess didn't see everything in the dark. He had black clothes, a sweatshirt and jeans. And he had black leather gloves on.”  
  
“Has he took off his mask, even one time?”  
  
You sighed, uneasy.  
  
“Yes...”  
  
“Did you see his face, partially or completely?”  
  
“Yes, he… No, you wouldn't believe me...” you answered, hesitating.  
  
“Just tell me.”  
  
“...He had a grey skin. Not grey like very pale. Dark grey. And he had very sharpe teeth too, like a shark...”  
  
Even you couldn't help but doubt your own perception. It sounded like you were describing a dream, it was ridiculous. But the man, David, he didn't flinch, he just continued to scribble down on his notebook.  
  
“Was he armed?”  
  
“Yes, he had a scalpel. It was dirty, and rusty too.”  
  
“Did you see him enter the facility?”  
  
“Yes. He climbed the walls.”  
  
“...What?” David said, a bit confused.  
  
“He climbed. The walls. And he entered the recovery room I was in by the window, so I ran away.” you answered with a monotonous voice. You didn't want to remember. So the least you could do was to talk matter-of-factly about those events, so you wouldn't have the chance to burst in tears in the middle of your story. At least you hoped so.  
  
“That's new. He followed you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ok. Have you seen this man anywhere before the accident? Even from far away?”

“...No...”, now it was your turn to be confused.  
  
“Were you ever stalked in the past? Had you ever received hints that you were followed before the event? “  
  
“What...No! Of course not, what's your point?”  
  
“My point is that your involved in a very particular case. Now I think that's enough for the questions. What do you want to know now?” he asked, closing his notebook and stuffing it back in his pocket before looking at you.  
  
“Tell me everything you know about this guy. No secrets, and no details left behind.”  
  
He sighed, then nodded:  
  
“I'll tell you. But nothing should be revealed to anyone. We don't want to create rumours that would terrify everyone, so you keep quiet about all of this. Not a word to anyone, even your friends or your family. Is that clear?”  
  
“Very clear, sir...” you nodded, attentive.  
  
“So… Two days ago, a distressed call was received from the hospital you were staying at. It was a child, who had heard a scream in a corridor not far away. When describing the scene, she said there was a lot of blood on the floor, and that she was hearing someone who was crying. Naturally, the police came immediately. That's when we found you unconscious, lying on the floor in a puddle of blood with a torn up hospital gown, beside the open corpse of a nurse. We all thought you were dead, until you coughed. So we rushed to get you under anaesthesia so we could patch you up and wait safely for a doctor. We searched the place, and found a total of 6 victims, 5 dead and one that survived: you. We didn't know what happened or why you were still alive. So an investigation began less than a day after the event, and we collected some informations. According to some of your neighbours, there had been sightings of a dark figure following you and tracing your address a few days before the event. It seemed to follow a pattern of crimes which had been reoccurring in the state for a month or so: We have multiple cases of young people being stalked for a few days, before someone break in their homes at night and attack them. Each times, the people are murdered and the autopsy reveals systematically a lack of kidneys, like the killer had been taking them out. For now, the criminal has made a total of 9 victims for 11 targets, if we count the 5 corpses found in this hospital two days ago. The first one that survived was a lad, maybe a bit older than you, his name was Mitch or something, I don't remember… But despite being alive, his brother was murdered, and both had their kidneys removed. You're the only one who is still alive with your kidneys still untouched. You both were here to describe the killer, which is nicknamed “Eyeless Jack” in this case because of his appearance and his apparent lack of eyes. Only a few could describe him, and you and Mitch were the only ones to describe him precisely since you're the only ones who had survived his attack. We think the guy was after you, but he apparently took the opportunity of your little flight to make some more victims. The police is still trying to find him, but he knows how to hide, he slips from us like a shadow...”  
  
You listened, dumbfounded. You had escaped a serial killer that made so many victims, you were one of the only two who lived. You wondered how it was possible, if you had fought hard enough or if he just spared you. It sounded so incredible. While you were lost in your thoughts, David glanced at you before speaking:  
  
“I hope your satisfied. Now I've got to go, I have a lot of work, and I guess you need some rest too. Good luck with your recovery.”  
  
“Thank you, sir...” You said absently, processing the story in your head while the officer turned and got out of the room.  
  
What happened seemed so odd, but you were so glad to be alive. You wanted to go on with your life. Maybe it would take time to forget, to cure your fear, to ignore the abuse and to move on with the scars, physical and mental. But you craved life for now, and was hell bent to fight for yourself. Distracted, you carressed your bruised neck, still deep in your thoughts.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
After a few more days in the hospital, you got to get out and go home. Your parents had heard of what happened, and sent you financial help to pay for the medical bills. They lived too far away to come and see you, but they began to call more frequently and promised they would come to see you later. Your mother cried when she first heard your broken voice, a few days ago. It pained you to have to endure the sadness of your parents, but you would cope with it. You were their fragile little child, eternally, and they cherished you. Of course it would break them to know something happened to you.  
  
There wasn't much friends or family living near you, so you called a taxi to come and pick you up from the hospital, since you couldn't walk much with your crutches and your plastered ankle. When you got home, a comforting sense of familiarity washed over you, and you smiled while nearing your door. You finally opened it and entered your apartment. Nothing had moved, it only got pretty dusty with time. You couldn't wait to get on your computer to chat with some friends, and to change your ideas, even for a bit. You had to call your parents today too… Before relaxing, you made you way to your kitchen, feeling thirsty. Once at the counter, you took a glass and began to pour yourself a large glass of water when something suddenly caught your eye.  
  
Something white, with a dark red stain on it.  
  
Was it meat? You turned your head. There was an envelope lying on the counter, stained. You froze, a twisted sort of apprehension forming in your guts. Wasn't it the end? Why was this here?  
... _When would you be left alone?_  
  
You didn't want to open it. However, a looming sense of dread prevented you from throwing the envelope away. It was like you would die right away if you dared to do this. You suddenly felt like you had trouble breathing, you were panting. With a trembling hand, you took the envelope, and looked at it like it would disappear if you focused enough. But who were you kidding, you had no choice but to open this… You had trouble opening it with your shaking hands, as you felt nauseous.  
  
A weep escaped you and you dropped the item like it had burnt your hands when you saw what was inside. Tears bubbled up your eyes, and you covered your mouth, staring at the content the envelope spilled when it hit the floor of the kitchen. A foul, rotten odour reached you nose in no time.

There was a piece of bitten organ, a small, cardinal red and round piece of flesh, that had this strange shape reminding you of a bean…  
A kidney. It was a half eaten kidney.  
  
Beside the gruesome item lied a note, with a scrambled writing making up a ghastly message:  
  
  
  
**“I'LL COME BACK FOR YOU.”**

**  
-E.J.**


	2. Inferno - A Slender Man One-Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this chapter isn't finished, but I will still post it and edit it more often. If It's posted, I feel like I'll have more motivation to finish it. If you don't want any spoils, don't read if this message's still here. If not, enjoy!
> 
> The setting will resemble much more the one found in "Slender: The Eight Pages" than in "Slender: The Arrival". If you want a song to listen for this story, it would be "Ghost of Love" from David Lynch, Silent Hill 2 OST, or just the theme of "Slender: The Eight Pages".
> 
> *The story is not finished.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This work is not for the faint of heart. If you're easily triggered by violence, blood/gore and sexual content, please DO NOT READ. Those stories will be scary and violent on purpose, because they feature mentally disturbed killers. You've been warned.
> 
> First of all, I want to thank you all for the amazing way the story was received! Every kudos, every comments and bookmarks felt like one more hug from you that I absolutely cherished. I couldn't even begin to conceive that it would go so far (I sincerley imagined a maximum of 20/30 kudos because my writing is apocalyptic and hellishly disorganized) , and it's really heart-warming to know you had a good time reading this first chapter! So, really, thank you! 
> 
> Anyway, important matter here: The story will partially focus on a pretty hard subject that is drugs and addiction (sprinkled with a bit of depression), which is actually some dangerous stuff (duh.). So if you, or someone you know is having troubles with addiction or any other issue, here is a link to some international helplines, as well as a link to the European Foundation of Drugs Helplines (FESAT): 
> 
> http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline  
> http://www.fesat.org/en/
> 
> So if you or someone you know is dealing with addiction related issues, I genuinely wish you good luck , and encourage you to seek help to recover. 
> 
> Have a good time reading!

You coughed harshly, your throat sore because of the acidic, putrid content rolling out of it. Spitting into the toilet bowl, you wrinkled your nose at the horrid smell and flushed. You then got up and took your toothbrush, beginning to brush your teeth and every corner of your mouth as nausea came back, unstoppable. You glanced at your sickened reflection absently, noticing again the deep bags under your eyes, and your sweaty forehead. Blood had drained from your face, so much that your lips blended with the rest of your skin with an abnormal alabaster shade. You hated dope sickness. Because of the diarrhea and the nausea, you had trouble eating, and felt therefore completely exhausted. The headaches, coupled with hot and cold sweats, weren't helping neither. You remembered again the hellish night you had spent, tossing and turning, and constantly getting up to go to the bathroom, again and again. The energy lacked you, and you felt blessed that it was only late in the Saturday night, and that you didn't have to work in those awful conditions. You exited your bathroom at a lazy pace, praying for the symptoms of your acute withdrawal to not get worse too soon.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you went through hell and back...”

“Keep your comments to yourself Harry, p-please… I-I feel sick enough, and my head hurts...”, you responded with a low, shaky voice, a distinct throbbing in your temples making you more sensitive and irascible.  
Strangely enough, your dealer, Harry, seemed pretty nervous too tonight. Usually, he was a pretty nice guy. Well… “Nice” for a drug dealer. He had no trouble understanding that you, as much as his other buyers, were a desperate person, and that you had trouble keeping up with the symptoms of your withdrawal. So, living in a small town lost in the middle of nowhere, with only a small police department and, surprisingly, a pretty big demand for his products, he usually rented a hotel room for his clients to join him, or he went directly to their house with the merchandise. You knew Harry since quite a time now, and you were one of a few that never pointed a gun at him, even because of the withdrawal, or as you called it, “dope sickness”. It designated this state of atrocious illness that you suffered, its symptoms being the ones of an acute withdrawal that came in the few hours after you took the opiate that ruined your life since the beginning.  
Being quite non-violent with him, and knowing him for that long, he had no trouble coming to your house when you called him to buy his offers.

Drowsy, you tumbled towards your couch and sat beside him, while he had already exposed his products on the small table in front of you.  
You eyed with much attention every small plastic bags, containing white immaculate powders or black gooey substances, as you craved the relief a fix could give you. You tried to focus on something else, breathing deeply as sweat had formed on your forehead. You still were so nauseous, and your stomach was churning, it was awful. Near you, Harry was tapping the ground rapidly with his foot, alert and seemingly very unnerved.

“Hey, listen (F/N), I know it's hard, but… Can he get over this quickly today…?”

You furrowed your brows, looking at him with a confused and apprehensive look.

“W-what's up with you, dude...? Calm down, I'm not even…-”, you began shakily, before being roughly cut off.

“Please, I really need you to go faster, I… I'm in a hurry, really…!”, Harry exclaimed, ruffling his hair with his hand.

You said nothing, a bit surprised by his sudden reaction, but decided to ignore this and to do as he said. If he was in a hurry, good for you, you were in a hurry too, and craved to get any form of relief as you felt cold sweat running down your spine. You understood how so much people could threaten him just for a fix, as you twisted your fingers, fidgeting, impatient to get finally high . But you had to remain calm, or you’ll never get it. After all, you had nothing to do with his business, and you really, really needed a fix. Right now.  
You chose a bundle, the equivalent of 10 fixes, so you could try to pass the week ahead without losing it to a withdrawal state during work. After all, you had to be paid, and you couldn’t afford to call in sick just for the sake of your pitiful state. You handed a hundred of dollars to the man sitting next to you with trembling hands, naturally on the edge. He took it hastily, and burrowed them in his bag, starting to collect rapidly all of his items, except for the bundle he sold to you. You, on the other hand, just stood while taking the plastic bag you just bought, and smiled weakly, sighing in relief. You could finally do your thing. Maybe a fix wasn’t enough to get you high, to finally cheer you up, but at least it was enough for you to get a bit better and for the symptoms of your dope sickness to lessen. As your dealer was about to leave, he called for you as you packed your opiate correctly in a drawer of your room.  
“Hey, (F/N)...! If someone asks, I haven’t been here tonight. Clear?”

“...Why would someone ask?”, you answered in a hasted confusion.

“Just answer me! Are we clear?”

“Yeah of course, b-but…”

You didn’t even had the time to finish that the guy bursted out of your apartment, slamming your door behind him before you heard him running down the stairs. You hadn’t the slightest idea of why this guy, who usually was pretty relaxed, suddenly became so erratic. But this thought was soon to be crushed by your overwhelming need to get a blow, as you only kept a fix in your hand. You got to your bathroom, where the light was definitely brighter than in the rest of your apartment, and put the small plastic bag next to the sink before bending and searching for your syringe. The white powder you had bought, even if it couldn’t give you the best of ‘high’ feelings, seemed to be enough to save you from any more suffering.

And, of course, money being one of your biggest problems, you just couldn’t afford to feel happy and healthy again by buying more. The intense euphoria and more durable state of health was long gone as you started to being used to the usual fixes, and you felt condamned to simply beg for a small relief, a short break in the incessant nightmare of your declining health.

It was heroin that had a hold of your addiction. And you were completely dependant of its pleasant, artificial and short-term effect. Rummaging through your stuff, you finally found the black box where your syringe was lying. In a basket right next to it, there was a lighter, and a spoon. You set everything in a line on a floor beside you, before filling a little glass with water, and placing it beside all of your stuff. Every little one of those actions were like a part of a ritual. It was part of your habits, you actions had an order, so you would feel well before shooting yourself. Sitting comfortably on your bathroom floor, you opened the black, rectangular box to reveal a syringe and a needle, and a rubber garrotte in a small compartment. You took your spoon, which you had cleaned a day ago, and filled it with the immaculate heroin you had bought, then you add a bit of water. Your hands were trembling even more, but you were extremely careful not to spill anything. It was crucial, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you lost any of the precious opiate. You lit your lighter and placed it under the round metal of the spoon, watching how the mixed liquid started to bubble and to get more brown as you heated it, with some sort of tired fascination. You felt the familiar feeling of the spoon’s metal handle getting warmer, while a tingling scent rose to your nose. Once your concoction was ready, you put the spoon down and started to assemble your syringe, screwing the needle to the rest of the tool. Filling it with the brown-yellowish, thick liquid, you then placed it between your teeth, took the garrotte and got to work.

One of the most complicated things to do was to find an adequate vein to shoot. Since most of your veins were scarred or had collapsed, you couldn’t inject your fix anywhere on you. It just wouldn’t work. You searched desperately on your arms, yours legs, inserting your needle to find the spot painful and rapidly starting to bleed, without seeing any blood in your syringe.

“Ugh… Fuck…”, you complained to no one in particular, simply starting to get unnerved, with a kind of tension that was soaked in underlying hysteria. Tears bubbled at the edge of your eyes, and you quickly wiped them, worried that you unclear sight would make your task even harder.  
You started to search near your fingers or near your toes, but beyond the fear of hurting yourself once again by missing a vein or hurting one which was already scarred, you were growing sicker and more desperate. It seemed like a lost cause, as you felt some drops of warm blood trickling along your arms and legs. You sighed, deeply upset, and started to clean the blood with a cotton ball before going back at it again. You were beginning to grow tired, and sighed as you tried one last spot.

Hope rushed back at you when you felt the needle going deep under your skin, and that you saw a red puff spraying out in the syringe, mixing with the drug.

“Yes…!” you whispered to yourself again, expecting you relief impatiently. Finally…

You then proceeded to slowly push the piston, injecting yourself with the blood impregnated opiate. You felt the familiar, easing warmth pooling in your blood as the liquid started to make its way in your vascular system. Soon, you felt your muscles, cramping earlier, relaxing all of a sudden. Your breathing was labored as you fell in the comforting embrace of artificial well-being, as a factitious state of serenity invaded you quite soon. You felt suddenly less drowsy, less panicked and disoriented, and a slight euphoria began to settle in, as you felt the desire to snicker at something...You decided you could maybe have a break hour or two during this week-end, and lifted yourself up without bothering to tidy behind you. Maybe crashing on your couch and caring to watch a lame show on the TV could be funny. At least it seemed to be a good plan if you wanted to empty your head, which was exactly what you needed right now. A break. From life, from the overthinking, from your unstoppable train of negative thoughts… From everything. You sat on your couch, and looked at the clock on your wall. It was almost 10:00pm… You had been sitting in your bathroom for nearly half an hour, without even realising it. You turned on the TV only to see an old sitcom.

“Well, It’ll do…” you groaned to yourself with a relaxed smile plastered on your face, while lying yourself stomach down on the couch.

Despite the TV being turned on, the broadcasted show rapidly became a background sound, and your thoughts began to drift off. You distractedly peaked at your arm, hanging from the couch, and punctuated by a few small, dark red holes. Why did you have to do this to yourself? You remembered when you were little. You were young, careless. You didn’t have to rely on any kind of drug to feel happy and healthy. It sounded like heaven now that your life had turned to this hell.  
Not to be mistaken, your downfall to heroin wasn’t entirely due to plain stupidity, nor to the ignorance that your relatively young age implied. No, you had descended towards it because fate had turned its back to you, and that your world collapsed following tragic events. You remembered when you were still a child and that your mother ran away with you, because your father was an alcoholic, and was gradually becoming more violent and threatening, not only to her, but also to you. You didn’t remember well the part where your parents where still together. But you remember the incessant messages of your father on the phone, asking your mother to return home with you, and how she refused each time. You also, unfortunately, remember the decrease of her health when you were approximately twelve, and how she was diagnosed with an advanced stage pulmonary cancer. You remember the last two month you spent with her, how she looked at you with this benevolent, tender look of her, albeit tired, and how she told you that you were and would forever stay her precious little angel, that you could become someone exceptional. And you also, very painfully remembered the dark, clean clothes you wore at her funeral, the sobbing that shook you to the core, as your father held your shoulder possessively, while whispering:

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m going to take care of you…”

He never held his promise.

Memories came back to you, memories of the heavy blows you put up with when you made a mistake and enraged him. How he could hit you so hard, even for no reason, just because he was awfully drunk. How fear grew, your heart racing, when you saw your father’s eyes change to a dreadful look of blind rage, his face suddenly becoming red from the bubbling furry, all of which preceded a violent blow, the pain staying like an heavy ache in your head.  
Growing up in a violent environment, constantly worrying because of your father, the feeling of helplessness you suffered everyday began to transform into an underlying form of negativity. You soon discovered that a crippling depression plagued you. Out of nowhere, sometimes even in school or during the night in your room, you would cry, overwhelmed by a devastating sadness, feeling like no one could help you. Of course, you tried to persuade yourself that it was only a side-effect of the terrible condition you grew in. But you should have felt hatred, and anger towards the people who made you suffer. And you never felt that, you only felt this awful feeling of emptiness. Like all of this happened because you should never have been here in the first place, and that all this suffering could be spared to you if you just disappeared.

You began to have trouble waking up the morning, thinking about how pointless it was to just… Being alive. You made your best to continue going to high-school, but it was hard. You were smart, but had no one to share your scholar achievements with.  
Progressively, you grew up and began to spend less time home, and made everything to stay out late with the few of your friends. That’s when you started to try some illicit products. At the beginning, you started with light things, like weed. You smoked a bit with your friends, not daring to drink, but forgetting about the situation you were in. It was like those times spent smoking and laughing with relatively nice people made a completely different world, isolated from reality. It felt like an escape. A bubble of unconcern, where you felt a bit lighter. They progressively began to introduce you to new products. You didn’t mind. If you could forget, you didn’t care what you could use. You just stayed away from alcohol, it was… Not your thing. But anything else felt okay. By the side of your friends, you just felt sort of protected. Away from the violence of the world.

But the harsh reality was vowed to reappear before you, and each time you got home, you had to be invisible. You had to lock the door of your room, and you had to ignore the shouts of your father outside. You had to deal with your unstoppable desire to curl up on your bed and cry to sleep, while you still wished to be able to work so you could graduate, despite your grades sometimes decreasing, naturally. It was really hard times that drove you through this downfall. You still felt like you weren’t the worst wreck in the world. At least, you weren’t homeless now, as it happened to some of your friends. You graduated when you were younger, a few years ago, and you got a job with minimum wage, working as a cashier in a gas station. You also could afford a very small flat, so you could live away from what remained of your family. Life wasn’t always pleasant, but it was better than nothing.

You hadn’t realized those memories brought tears in your eyes, which flooded now your eyesight. You didn’t like your life, simply, and this thought alone was enough to drive you to sob quietly, thinking of how things could have turned differently if you had been a bit luckier. You lived with unfulfilled needs for almost everything, apart from a high leveled and dangerous addiction. You needed more money to pay your loan, and were often hungry. Sometimes your electricity broke because you were late to pay your bills. And you had to sustain a craving for an opiate you desperately needed, but hated because it had partially contributed to ruin your life.

You burrowed your head in your arms, not even paying attention to your TV. Your past euphoric feeling was now long gone, and you felt better as you allowed yourself to cry. You were asserted by a need you despised, and your life was not what you’ve always had dreamt about. You sometimes felt lost, enslaved by your own difficulties. And you didn’t even have the strength to feel sad. You just felt like something was missing inside of you, constantly, a part of your soul lost, never to be found again. You felt so overwhelmed by this sudden rush of emotional pain, that you almost didn’t hear the loud pounding on your door.   
Not sure you had heard correctly, you lifted your head and stared at the door. Maybe you had imagined it, and you were perfectly alone. But your hopes to deal with your sorrow were broken when you heard a new set of strokes pounding in your door, followed by a gruff voice calling from outside:   
  
"Police, open up please..."  
  
Of course.  _Of fucking course..._  Harry was busted. This prick took the risk to come to your apartement, ignoring the fact that he was probably traced by the cops. And now, you were going to be caught because of him. You just had goosebumps imagining dreadfully the gigantic numbers on your fine, or your time spent in jail. And you really, really couldn't afford either of those two things. You would finish your life in the streets, probably just poorer. The shouts of the man behind the door continued, demanding you to open your house to them, and you knew they would search everywhere, even for a little connection to your dealer. You had to go away. Now.   
You rose up ever-so-quietly, trying not to make a sound. You've done it so many times when you were young, being so silent you could trick anyone into thinking you weren't here. Making it look like you didn't even exist. You knew the men calling outside were begining to be suspicious. The loudest voice was drowned by several, quieter ones, they were maybe 3 or 4 of them. Their quiet talking indicated that they were planing to do something, obviously not in your favor. You felt with a building tension that you had to be quick, swift and precise, like a shadow. You really hoped you could be as quick and silent as you wished, despite your recent shoot. You walked on your toes, as silently as possible to your room, and closed the door without a sound, hoping that the deafening pounding of your heart in your chest wouldn't give you away.  
  
Once in your room, you slowly closed the door, and let off the breath you had been unconsciously holding in. Breathing heavily, your heart racing, you could see in all its might the overwhelming fear that was building up within you. You wouldn't let yourself be caught, you couldn't let that happen. The urgency of this situation filled you with unleashed distress, as you silently paced in your room, only accompanied by the melody of your panicked breath.   
There was a window in your living room, one that almost gave you access to a fire staircase, the metal structure finishing with a slim ladder. Maybe, if you could jump the gap between the window and the staircase, you could have a clean path to run away. You would hide, maybe in the woods.   
  
You remembered the few times you walked behind the building where your apartement was. Afar, you would always see a dense forest extending in the horizon. Even during the clearest days, it always seemed too dark, contrasting with its lack of light. Like a world apart of yours, it seemed to bear its own darkness, its own ominous presence, not depending on the rules of your own world. It felt like it was a unique place, only obeying to its rules. In the city, the woods where known for the dark mystery surrounding them. It was rumored to be haunted, especially after a bunch of people got missing after entering it, including children. Of course, the police had made a huge investigation regarding this, but they never found anything. Even worse, they lost cops during the searchings in this forest, and since then, they abandoned the investigation. Nobody ever knew what was hiding in this gloomy place. Probably just some hobo maniac you believed, since every now and then, a corpse reappeared at the edge of the woods, each time at a different stage of decomposition. It became more and more common to see in the local news that one had disappeared, or that the other was found dead near the forest, young or not.   
  
That was it, the woods were your best chance so far. You lazily grabbed an empty backpack, and stuffed it with the strict minimum, also taking with any evidences of your drug consumption with you. Your syringe, the fixes, and you also took your phone and a water bottle, because you never knew. Putting a dark sweat-shirt on and your sneakers, with some gloves, you almost felt like a ninja. You then wrapped up your face with a black scarf, protecting you from the cold as well as hiding your face efficiently, and pulled up your hood. Now, you were sure no one could recognize you.  
  
Now ready, you faced you room's door, taking a deep, shaky breath. Despite making up a plan in you head, repeating it countlessly in your hazy mind, you still felt unsure. Of course it was dumb. You were going to get caught, maybe even hurt if not both. You were a junkie. A depraved, delusional mess... And yet, with a fleeting hope, you thought that it would cost nothing to  _at least_ try. Who knows?   
Your heart was still pounding, your breath erratic, and you were sweating. You already heard the threats behind your door, threatening to smash the door to come in. You didn't have much time. And you would not bother about being silent right now.   
  
You burst through your bedroom door, sprinting to the window, already opening it. Outside, you heard the shout of the officer. He must've heard you so clearly, you thought, after you peaked and saw you door tremble furiously after a booming impact. You were already opening your window, stepping on the edge before you heard another crashing sound, and your door being burst open and someone stepping loudly inside. You turned your head toward the ladder.   
  
"Oh my-... What the fuck am I doing...", you uttered, seeing the distance between you and the ladder. It was at least 5 or 6 feet ahead of you. But before you could react, your head snapped to a furious voice, the one of the policeman that saw you:   
  
"YOU! Get inside, or we-"  
  
You didn't heard what he said when you jumped. You pushed on your legs as hard as you could, diving in the air with your arms extended in front of you. As the sole of your shoes left the solid edge of your window, a striking pain in your chest made you feel like your heart skipped a beat, your chest and your stomach aching from the powerful blow of shock. This was the first pain you registered, the second being the hit of the ladder against you. You heard yourself grunt in a pained way when your chest collided with it, as you struggled to breath again.   
Your hands banged severeal times on some of the ladder's steps, before firmly contracting on one of the horizontal bars, halting your fall. You didn't have time to registered that you hadn't fallen, that you've managed to tightlfully grip on the ladder before your heart skipped another beat with an abrupt movement.   
Your sudden weight on the structure unfolded it unexpectedly, the ladder rolling at full speed under you, taking you with its downfall. Once completely unrolled, the stucture came to a rough stop, blocking itself at a few meters from the ground. The shock of the halt made you loose your grip on the ladder, closing the distance between you and the ground in a short, and yet painful fall. 

You felt dirt on your face, in your neck and on your clothes, as you struggled to get up. Quite ahead of you, in the floor of your apartment, you heard the shouts of the officer, bewildered to see you had the guts to jump and not even die in the process. But you couldn't stay flat on the ground and wait for the impressed, yet angry man to come and get you. You stood up, and realized everything was hurting... Great. You wobbled a few instants on your trembling legs, your muscles protesting and your head pounding, for it had collided with the ground quite harshly. You looked up, your hazy mind processing the distance between you and the woods... You could see it afar, calling you almost. It was the perfect hide out. You began to run to the metal fence bordering it, grabbing you bag firmly so it wouldn't slide while you run. You began to increase your speed as your mind became clearer and clearer with adrenaline, your only aim being the shadows of the forest, welcoming you out of the grasp of your pursuers.   
You were only a few dozen of foot away from the fence, already sprinting since your mind was clearing up efficiently and your muscles moving under the effective pressure of fear, before you heard a voice behind you:   
  
"STOP RIGHT HERE, OR WE OPEN FIRE! "  
  
Was this a hint of dread in his voice? You were fairly close to a forest no one, even the police men, dared to approach. You pushed on your legs, and jumped as high as you could on the metal fence, before starting to climb it. Then, reaching the barbed wires at the top, you got past them by pushing your bag on it. It was quite awkward, and a perilous move to make, but once you had a leg on the other side, hope shot through you and you tried to get past this obstacle with a renewed energy. Well, as much as you could have since you had a fix a few times ago.   
One of the officer began to approach the fence, and your heart raced, making you climb faster, and unfortunately, in a more clumsy way.   
But suddenly, a pained whimper escaped you as you slid, and felt something piercing the skin of your leg. You harshly grunted as your heart skipped a beat when your lost your balance, and your unsteady form suddenly fell on the far ground.   
You had at least a one or two seconds fall before your whole side met again with the cold, stone-hard ground. Panicked by your sudden pain, and your breath knocked out of your suffering lungs, you rose your dull body and looked up at your leg; it had been ripped by the barbed wires you had tried to climb, which had shredded your pants and your flesh alongside. A vivid pain was slowly growing numb in your calf, and you tried to grab the bag that had fallen with you rapidly as you saw one of the officer grabbing the fence, ready to climb it. Breathing heavily, you eyed him a moment before realizing what he was doing, and after a quick glance at the leg that had just started to bleed, you decided to get up and run. You had nothing to loose anyway.   
Pushing yourself up, you rose on unsteady feet, and yet rapidly, you started running. Well... More "tumbling quickly" in the dark of the night, trying to escape the growing menace of the policemen. And yet, even with your bleeding leg, you were quite fast. Even if the price of your speed was a seering pain. You didn't care, at least you would give yourself a chance to escape. 

The cold air brushed on your exposed skin, sweat already coating your warmly covered skin as it took everything you had to keep going. And as your speed build up with habit and effort, you knew it wouldn't be enough to stop your pursuers. When you were far enough from the fence, you just stopped, and saw that you were on the main track. You knew it because there was a path cleared of any weeds and grass. It traced a ligne in the dry dirt that guided you. Anyone would have the reflex to follow it. In parks, and even in wilderness, paths tended to lead an individual to key places. Since the dawn of times, albeit this technique was known to be tricky, it was known that no one should walk away from a path unless they wanted to get lost. Children were taught this since centuries. It was only logical that you would follow it, to your pursuers of course. They didn't have time to call more squads to search the entire area, and if they were to dare enter this cursed place to go after a simple junkie, they would only follow the lead of a pathway until they get bored, or realise a drugged kid at the brink of death wasn't worth it. So you did the only thing that you coud do: you stepped out of the path, disapearing in the darkness around you. There, trees were closer to each other, and the side of the path seemed secluded in comparison to the rest of the scenery. Your dark clothes matched and blended in the obscurity, giving your a perfect, persistent and ever present hiding place.   
  
You found a tree nearby, and as your speed decreased, the hot blood covering your leg revived a searing pain in one of your muscles. You slumped aginst it, and it took everything you had just to keep quiet.   
  
"Just a moment, wait until they get past you. Please. Please, shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up...", you pleaded to yourself, whispering, as pained cries formed and died in your throat, as you contained them with all your will.   
You only needed a few instants of silence.   
  
But then, you waited. And waited. And waited.  
  
  
  
No one came.   
  
  
...What? What happened? As you run, I heard it. The rattling of the fence, the steps following you in your frenetic race... Why weren't they here? Even if you were well hidden, it was so easy to just... Run a bit, look around, and go away. Why on earth wasn't anyone here...?   
  
But as you ponder, you soon realise you got incredibly lucky. Chances were the men didn't want to risk getting lost or harmed in this forest, and didn't dare to enter. As for you... You lived right next to this cursed place for quite a bit now. I has become a part of your home somehow. A discreet, and yet known to be dangerous part of the daily scenery. You didn't really care if any psycho would live here, or harm you... Most chances were that once, a maniac killed someone here, but that the rest of the disappearances were coincidences. Kids getting lost, people attacked by wild animals, or even victim of accidents of their own making while roaming in those woods.   
Seeing as you were alone, you allowed yourself to breath again. A single exhale sufficed to tear a desperate weep from you. God... Your leg, it was hurting...You were so tired. Starting to cry, you tried to lift the clothe of your jeans to inspect the wound.   
It seemed... Bad. Really bad. Starting to feel anxious, you took you backpack, opening it and stuffing your hand in it to try and find a more reliable source of light than the pale moonlight.  You found your phone, and activated the old, dimming flash. It was better than nothing, after all...  
  
The barbed wires had managed to tear down your flesh quite deeply. The blood that had poured already started to dry, becoming the brown, sticky glue around the profound dent in your calf. The cut was so deep, it was just a sloppy dent, bathed in red. The center of it was just blood, becomming darker where the wound became deeper. Sometimes, around the dark of your blood, there were small chunks of skin, of flesh poking out of the sticky, thick pool of liquid. The pain was unforgiving, cutting deeper and deeper in your nerves. At such a gruesome sight, you started to cry harder. You couldn't control it. You sniffed loudly, trying to get a better look. You were used to the sight of blood. Between periods and the veins you were scarring while making your injections, you just had to. You hands were shaking, really hard, and you didn't know if it was the pain, the shock, the aftermath of the fucking ton of adrenaline in your veins, or the substances in your blood which started to were off. The worst of all would have been the smell. You leg, the blood gliding warmly against your skin... It beared a horrible stench, mixing the dirt that was sticking to it with a rotten odour.  
  
At this point, your head started to hurt already. The rotten, putrid fragance, you didn't even know if it came from your leg. It was like it was ambient. Everywhere around you. It wretched of death. Your pounding head was keeping you from concentrating, and you knew it could only have two distinct causes: dope sickness, or the loss of blood.   
You had only one way to make sure. Putting down your phone, you reached for your backpack again, and pulled out the old water bottle you had unexpectedly took from your room. It was pretty small, and only half-full, but it was already enough. You opened it, before pouring a little bit of water on your wounded skin. You sighed, as the clear liquid felt fresh against your heating skin. But soon a enough, your content sigh became a hiss of pain, your wound stinging even more as it was cleansed. You had to endure this, you needed it if you wanted to keep your leg. And you certainly couldn't risk and infection right now. There wasn't much progression though. The wound still stinged and made you suffer a slicing pain, but at least it was clean, even if it was still bleeding. You then took off your scarf, and made your best to wrap it the tightest way possible around the bleeding muscle. Soon, the clothe became drenched in fresh blood, but the flow slowed down quite frankly. Your head was spinning, but you managed to smile, proud to have made something useful.  _For once, you were useful, but it would not last, stupid_. At least it was working for now. The tight press of the clothe also held your sliced muscle in place, making it so you progressively stopped feeling anything. It wasn't that the pain was gone. Everything was gone. Your leg just strated to go numb, or at least your calf. But this, this was better than walking in pain. You didn't you walk well, but at least you felt like you were able to.    
  
Ever so slowly, you tried to get up. At the begining, after you had packed your bag, you just grabbed the tree behind you, trying to hoist yourself up, but it was pretty awkward. Actually, if the lack of pain made you more comfortable, the numbness kept you from walking properly. But soon enough, after a couple of attempts, you finally managed to get up, leaning on the moist wood of the tree near you. Your equilibrium was fragile, but it was enough to try and move. You had to, staying in the same spot wasn't a very good idea. You had to spot the limits of those woods, and find your way home just late enough that no cops would wait for you. You picked up your backpack, and your phone on the ground, which was now your only source of light, before starting to walk, calmly eyeing your surroundings. Even with the pale moonlight slightly filtering through some dead trees, the woods were extremely dark, and albeit it was pretty normal, you prefered to find your way out of here with a bit more light. Running away blinded by the darkness was okay, you just had to keep going. But now? You had to keep track of where you were going, and blind, you would just die here.   
Your steps were precautious, a bit slow, and irregular. The only sound around you were your soft steps in the grass and the dirt. All of it was... Oddly serene. Sometimes, a cricket would whistle in the dark, bushes and leaves would rustle quietly, whispering all around you. The wind would caress your skin with soft breezes, making you shiver and regret your now drenched scarf.   
  
Usually, you liked appreciating the small things nature made. The mild scent vegetation exhaled when it rains, the quiet peace in a night walk, the evasion a simple ray of light could offer. But despite the events of tonight, something was bugging you. You liked the setting you were in. You were  **supposed to**. It was always like this. A base that has never changed, a mark in your erratic personality.   
Whether it was the withdrawal mentally suffocating you, or the insipid loneliness of this darker place bothering you, you felt like this place, despite it's peace, was sickening. The quiet nature was dying, along with something inside you.   
There was also the unceasing tug in your stomach. It wasn't  **actually**  painful. It was just... Weirdly uncomfortable. Like a persistent weight in the pit of your abdomen. An ominous feeling. Was it fear? Worry? Maybe just the uneasiness, since you felt so alone in a place you didn't know... _Maybe you just felt bad about yourself, crybaby._  
  
Suddenly, lost in your thoughts as you wondered around those woods, your head lifted up and your eyes lit up with surprise, as you stumbled upon something:  
Just in front of you, completely unmoving, was an old brown truck. It looked like it was decaying for years now... The metal was rusting absolutely everywhere, and it seemed devoured by the humid wind, ready to crumble to pieces.  _You're ready to crumble to pieces too_. Intrigued, you approached the strange founding. Your steps were still quite uncertain, and despite your determination, your were reminded by your own slowing metabolism that your withdrawal was coming back. You were falling sick again, your pounding cranium and your nauseated stomach making it hard to think again. You already had begun to sweat again, depite feeling incredibly cold, and it seemed like nothing in  your body would cooperate. It only meant one thing: if you wanted to feel better, you had to inject yourself a fix. Sometimes, it almost felt like an unwanted duty. A chore.  _You were such a slave..._ If the physical pain wasn't enough, now your mind was back at it now. Actually, you think your mind was down the path for much longer, without you realizing it.  _Of course you didn't realize, you obnoxious wreck._  This void sadness. An empty shell hitting you with it's blunt violence. Self-hate. Guilt. All the negative, parasite thoughts.  _You **deserved it**  so much. What a dumb fuck. You were born alone, and you will die alone. What were you thinking. Someone like  **you**  would never have a second chance. You would do  **everyone**  a favor if you just disappeared. You useless piece of shi_ _-_  
**STOP.** Stop it. Right now. What the heck were you thinking about?   
You hadn't even realized, lost in your progressive mental and physical distress, that you had stopped walking. You also didn't realize that your breathing had picked up, and that you were crying. Tears were pouring freely on your cheeks, sliding on your skin and leaving a burning, invisible path on them. You hastily dried them with your trembling hands. Okay, self-hate, guilt, all that mess. It happened to just come when you had dope sickness. Or even when you were in your normal state actually, but this wasn't important. Right now, the only things you wanted were a fix, and to get out of those dark woods. Their obscure aura started to grow on you, and you really,  **really**  needed to concentrate. You rubbed your tired eyes, sighing.   
  
Then, you thought of something, looking at the old truck... The metal looked old, but the interior seemed oddly clean. Maybe some chemicals gnawed at the exterior, but the vehicule in itself was pretty new? Just abandoned, that's all... Maybe the batterie was still intact, and you could have some light it you managed to tinker a bit with the wires!   
But you would never be sure if you didn't check. And if you were right... You could get yourself one of the fixes in your backpack, and be in a somewhat better state to continue searching for a way home. With this new idea in mind, you started to approach the vehicule. Your hand gripped the truck's diver door, pulled it, as you waited for the light to shine at the driver's seat. At the click of the door, it never came though. Of course. The only thing you noticed was a strange, and pretty bad, faint smell. Maybe it was getting old enough for the interior to stink weirdly...  
You climbed your way up to the driver seat, taking your phone and lighting up the underneath of the wheel. There, some colorful wires were dingling freely out of their plastic cage. You stuck your phone so it would light them, and started to work with them so the light would turn on again, with some hope.  Some minutes passed, and suddenly, when the green wire touched the red one, the light flashed weakly. You had a lead!   
Adjusting your position a bit, you connected the wires, twisting them so they would remain together. The light twinkled a little more, and when you finished, it had a proper, constant, and yet pretty faint glow. At least it was more than nothing. Satisfied, you  sighed, turning to the backpack you had put on the passenger seat when you were still in the dark, before your guts made a sickening twist. It was filthy. There were brown, fetid, sloopy stains absolutely  _everywhere_.   
  
  
There was  _blood_. All over the place.   
  
  
Your breathing had picked up again, desperate for air, and it seemed you couldn't have enough. There was dried, sticky old blood everywhere, from the dark fabric of the seats to the hard plastic of the board. Absolutely. Fucking. Everywhere. The stench of death surrounded you, more powerful than before. Panicked, incapable of thinking, you rose your hand to  your face, the one you had used to push yourself on the driver seat.   
It was covered in a brown, almost waxy substance, and it reeked of rotten, organic matter. It made you overly nauseous way too quick, as you stumbled out of there, crying out in pure panic. You just tripped out, ending up on all four on the ground, thinking of covering your mouth and nose before remembering with a twist in the guts that your hands were disgusting now... You coughed, sickened to the point of no return. What. The. Hell.   
Okay... Breath. There where  _murders_  happening in this forest. You  _had_  to expect things like those. And yet, you had never been prepared. Your backpack was still in the vehicule. God... You weren't really up to going back there again. Really, it gave you the automatic reflex to just puke, seeing the filthy, blood-bathed interior of this nightmarish truck. Just... You felt like you couldn't go in there. You sit on the ground a few more minutes, still not believing that you could go in there, there your hands into waxy, rotting blood again, just to retrieve your bag. But then again... You needed it. To go home. To just end with this twisted journey. You had enough.   
  
Finally, after quite a long break, you mustered the strengh to go back. You would stop breathing, retrieve it the fastest way you could, and go far, far away, never coming back in those woods again. You tried to stand up again, stumbling a bit because of your wounded leg, until you managed to stand upright. Then, nearing the open cabin of the vehicule, still lighted up by the  yellowish, cheap glow and still reeking the same weird way, you climbed the driver seat, inhaling deeply and blocking quickly your whole windpipe. You crawled on the sticky fabric, as quick as you could manage to be, grabbed your things, and got out stumbling again, quite uneasy. Once out, wary to not jump to hard on the ground because of your leg, you tumbled a few steps away before breathing again, taking a deep, fresh inhale. The air smelled filthy, but not as much. Your clothes, your packpack and your hands had probably picked up the smell. But you couldn't care less. You just wanted out of here.   
  
Getting around the vehicule, you aimed to continue forward, still limping. You turned around the back of it, but something stange caught your eye before you could get away. A white glimpse, stangely clear in the dark of the night. You slowed down, turning to this glimpse, weirdly intrigued. There, stuck on the rusting metal of the back of the truck. There was a paper attached to it. A note, seemingly.   
  
Maybe someone left a message? A warning, maybe? Curious, you found the courage to approach it. You gripped the white paper, your brows furrowing to what you read on it. And you tore it from it's place, unknowingly sealing your fate.   
The paper, contrary to your expectation, didn't give you useful informations. But it was... Dreadfully eerie. Like a bad omen, quite inoffensive, but just... Making your anxiety grow like a vice grip on your throat. It was just... A scribled, sinister drawing. On each side of the page, there were two rows of words, just spelling: 

 

" **NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO**..."  
  
  
The scribbled interjections seemed erratic. not unlike a complete maniac writing them. Or someone desperately scared. But the strangest, and what made the least sense, was this strange, stick figure scribbled in between those two rows of No's. It was weird, not quite drawn, but almost scratched on the paper with an old pen. This figure... Albeit it was simple, it seemed it wasn't really... A naturally bad drawing. Seemed like whoever intended to draw this didn't wish to just make a stick figure but rather a real man, even adding what looked like a costume to it. But the whole drawing was eerily stretched. To tall to be human, to lanky to be real, almost looking like some twigs stuck together... Without forgetting the unfinished face, a thin, not quite round head that lack hair and facial features. Whatever it was, it felt just...Erratic. Panicked. Desperate.   
The whole drawing, the repeated, crazy no's... It made you so weirdly uneasy. Almost the same unease from the feeling of being alone in the dark. Not being scarred because you are alone, but because you feel you are, in fact,  **not**  alone.   
  
  
...Enough with the spooky shit. You had some other things to think about,  like going home and treating your leg. Gulping your unease, you crumpled the paper and threw it as far as you could, before continuing forward. But unexpectedly... Something felt off. You had walked for what seemed like forever, and your worries only grew with each steps you took. Maybe it was the tension you felt, that stretched each seconds, each minutes to an infinity. And yet, you had the impression that no matter how long, how far you would walk, or how strong you tried to strop thinking about the eerie page you had found... It seemed like you couldn't walk away from this place, nor get the note out of your mind. It was starting to be creepy, and your hands were shaking as you advanced, looking forward, always. It felt like you were stuck in a loop.   
For so long now, you had felt your heart beat harder. Not faster.   
Just harder.  _Deeper. **Louder**_. It was pounding in the calm, regular pace that haunted you.   
It was beating in the air all around you, vibrating in the stench that followed you untiringly. And then you realized:  
What was beating all around you wasn't your heart.   
You stuck two fingers to your juggular, fingers trembling against the blood-gorged vein. It didn't synch up with the beating in your ears. It should, but it didn't.   
  
Your breathing picked up even more, as fear started to constrict your guts. Were you going crazy? They said you started to hear things when you were going crazy. Maybe your drugged senses played tricks on you. But deep inside, you knew how you high senses felt like. And it didn't feel like this tensed up, heavy feeling of hearing something that didn't exist. But in the end, you could do absolutely nothing more than walk. Keep going. Cope with it. Exactly like everything in your life.   
You tumbled forward, out of breath. Freezing in an endless night, always colder and colder. You wanted to go home. The beating never stopped, following your path as your anxiety was building up with each steps.   
You felt uneasy for most of your walk. Feeling dread rising, like an infantile fear coming back. The one, although you're supposed to feel safe, that gave you the desperate feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you will never be safe. A fear for your life that never ceased. Like you were not alone.   
Always preyed by something. Something awful, ominous. And that would never leave.   
  
Slowly, like an approaching threat, your head started to pound. Infinitely more than the normal headache and jittery gestures of your dope sickness. Your throat felt horse... Dry. Like it was made from sandpaper, constricting and scraping. Your head hurt more and more, almost like your eyeballs were going to explode.   
Abruptly, you felt your legs fail you, and you fell face first against the ground. You started to cough harshly, almost spitting out your lungs. It never stopped... You were sweating, a searing pain digging in the back of your brain. The more you coughed, the more you  _needed_  to couch. You almost couldn't breath in your heavy coughing, each scarce, but deep inhale sounding like a breathless, voiceless wheeze.  
  
Each time you thought it couldn't get worse, more painful, it actually did, and if you could curse, you would. The pounding, deep bass around you deepened, as you stopped breathing from the coughing... Were you dying? Were you actually dying? You couldn't breath... You  ** _needed_**   to breath... Desperately. You felt like something was digging a large hole in the back of your skull, planting a needle in your brain. Expending it so it would break your skull and crush your brain... It was atrocious. Unbearable.   
  
Breathless, you pleaded silently for it to stop. You begged like you never begged before. It was so painful... The worst you've  _ever_   fucking known in your whole life.   
Soon, the lack of oxygen felt almost...Unreal. You felt a sudden, unexpected wave of strange tiredness. You felt weary, ready to pass out. Almost like floating. You were going to fall unconscious... Not before catching something.   
  
  
A white glimpse.

 

Starring at you. 

 

~ ~ ~   
  
  
... A sudden, deep inhale woke you up.   
Abruptly, freezing air filled your burning lungs. The air seemed full of tiny shards of ice, burning and cutting through your windpipe to fill up and exit your seemingly empty lungs. Your whole chest burnt a slicing pain from the new breath you took.  _It felt divine._  
You felt alive again.   
How long were you unconscious? It felt as you stopped breathing, probably not long. You stayed there, lying on the ground, collecting yourself for some time. It felt so good, and it was yet so painful to breath again. Like a fresh new start. A rebirth. After some time simply looking at the darkened, cloudless sky, you decided to stand up again. It seemed that the surrounding got darker. Near your passed out form, your phone fell and the lamp was turned off. Sudden worry gripped at your chest, as you crawled towards it and hastily retrieved it. You pressed the button to unlock it, hoping that it still had the energy to light your steps and guide you home.   
Fortunately, the screen lightened up, and you gave the deepest sighs of relief... You weren't  _that_  unlucky in the end.   
Keeping the device close, you pushed against the weight of your backpack to stand up. As always, with your leg, it was difficult, but you were getting better at this. Once you were standing up, you looked around. Nothing had changed. The leaves around you always rustled quietly, the tree's growing high in the sky, the pale moonlight which offered too little light to guide you. The traced path that darted in the darkness only to come back a few steps ahead. The rotten scent. The consuming fear. Everything stayed as it was before you mysteriously lost consciousness.   
  
Hellbent, you did the last and only thing you could: turning on the flashlight of your phone, you kept walking again. Always forward, followed by the crooked shadows of the dying nature around you. By the putrid fragance of death, born from a place you didn't know. By the relentless pain of a sliced calf, reminded to you at each steps. By the constant, relentless beating sound that never disappeared...   
You were sick. You were hurt. And overall, you were so,  _so tired..._  You just wanted to go home. To get out of here. Even if your life was hard, here you just felt... So lonely. In danger. Stuck. All of those unbearable feelings mixing together were just exhausting now. You could just take so much, before snapping, and you had the impression that you were already getting crazy. Paranoid, even.   
  
As the woods, reapeating the seemingly same and endless scenery, were slowly morphing into an unsufferable maze, you abruptly came across something different. Something looking like... An abandonned building? It only had one floor, and felt pretty noticeable, with it's colorful red bricks and it's bright green roof, without forgetting the vast space it occupied. You didn't know what it was. Inside, it was dark, and seemingly empty.   
Feeling more and more cold and tired; you still doubted. The inside looked strangely eerie... And at the same time, you were beginning to crave the shelter of some walls, without forgetting a few things: you could completely use some water, or some light even, if you managed to find a generator... Just in front of the doorless entrance, even if the darkness seemed particularily unappealing, your path almost  _led_  you to enter. The path, the pain in your leg, the cold wind rising. Almost everything pressed you to enter. Finally, you dared to make a step towards the warm darkness of the place, left to rot an eternity ago it seemed. Then another, until you were slowly engulfing yourself in the obscure building.   
  
You first were met with a serie of labyrinthic corridors, punctuated by  doorless entrances. Your improvised flashlight shone on the white, polished ceramic on the walls, which were not unlike the ones you found in your bathroom. The shiny, not quite dirty walls weren't paved to the ceiling, and the mix between the cold white colors, and the dirty concrete elevating to the ceiling gave you a weird feeling. It was like roaming the halls of an abandoned hospital, which wasn't even sanitary in the first place. It just... Gave you the chills. Lots of them.   
The sole of your muddy shoes, at each of your unstable step, made a slapping sound that came muffled by the wood's dirt you brought with you upon entering. It soon became your only rythm, as the cold light of your phone shone your steps. Your eyed each of the entrances, and soon realized that it only consisted of emptied rooms, looking just like the corridors, and only being delimited by four identic walls. Nothing of interest, whatsoever. Although, you didn't really know  _why_ , but you kept checking each room you passed. Almost like you were afraid of missing something. Of course, deep down, you knew it was silly. You had nothing to miss. Some of the room were empty, some just had a chair, or some dirt on the ground. Just the kind of abandonned items you could expect. And yet... You just felt obligated to check each and every room in this place. As futile as it seemed, you just...  _needed_  to do so...

But suddenly, as you relentlessly eyed one of the countless rooms, you came across something unusual, and yet weirdly familiar.  _A note._  
There was a note!   
It just stood their, at the back wall of the empty chamber, stuck on the ceramic. Very soon, and quite unexpectedly, your curiosity got ahead of you, and you didn't even feel yourself jump on this note until you were in front of it, and realised your sudden movement ignited a searing pain in your wounded leg. You whimpered, clenching your teeth and almost grabbing your leg, before the burning sting faded away into a vague, muffled numbness again. Then, raising your head, you took the note while eyeing it curiously, furrowing your brows. It read some words again, quite ominous as well, just like the previous note you read... Were there scribbled notes everywhere in those woods? What sort of lunatic could do this...? "  
  
" **DON'T LOOK... OR IT TAKES YOU**"  
  
Near those words, you only found two scribbled drawings... A cross, and again, this weird stick figure you had seen before. Just like the previous drawing, the stick figure felt sloppily made, but strangely precise, almost like the drawer wanted this figure to look unnatural and crooked. Who was this thing? Or... What was it? Maybe just the haunting dream of a madman?   
_Don't be a liar, you're mad too and you know it... You..._  You just had a problem. An issue. A plague that you couldn't let die. But you're not mad... Not yet. And you would not let the intrusive thoughts take the best of you just now...!

This time, even if the scribbled drawing made you uneasy, you decided to keep it. You were too lazy to just crumple it, or even tear it to shreds. You only, negligently folded it and placed it in your pocket. After all, it didn't change anything. Then, as you proceeded to exit the room, you noticed something. Along with the beating sound resonating faintly in the air, almost making your chest beat with it, rose a sort of deep whistle in the wind. It sounded... Too high-pitched to be natural, and yet, you still had no explanation to where this breathy, pealing sound came from. It was just...There. You didn't remember it from before, you were certain, as this strange, surreal sound made an atrocious anxiety awaken in the pit of your chest. It was a certain kind of fear, that you never experienced before. Like witnessing the world melting around you, and not even knowing about it. Or being suddenly very alone, wherever you go in the world. It was just... Awfully odd, and yet not wrong enough for you to point exactly what was going on. You just felt more lost than ever. And... Followed.   
  
It was what described the most precisely what you felt at the moment. At the same time very lonely, and never truly alone. Not in a good sense...

Out in the halls, the feeling never truly died, as you gulped and managed to continue forward and explore the corridors. You stepped on crushed ceramic on the floor, nearing again one last room, near one of the entrances of the building. Peaking inside, as always, you found nothing. The only difference with before was in your state, as you noticed that not only you felt more anxious, closely followed and purely terrified, but also your head was pounding. It was pretty different from the nascent headache which had stuck to you for the past time. It was a searing pain, pounding at the back of your head, like razors in your brain and behind your eyes. The kind of pain that left you nauseous, as you wiped your damp forehead, covered in sweat. Then, you had a realization... Dope sickness. You were suffering of withdrawal syndrome. Maybe it could explain it all... You possibly started a horrible withdrawal, maybe worst than any you've had until this day. It would explain the sounds, the feelings, the sickness... Even the moment you lost consciousness! Maybe it was all just a hallucination, an illusion born from the lack of toxins in your blood. But if your theory was accurate, you would soon be unable to continue. If you began to be  _that_  sick, you would never find your way home.   
As awful as this idea sounded... You needed a fix. Right now.   
  
You remembered as, just before you escaped your flat, you took everything related to your drug consumption in case the cops would search your home. You  _had_  to do this.   
  
Carefully eyeing your surroundings, you entered the empty room. It was poorly lit, safe for the light of your phone. Hesitantly nearing the wall in the back of the room, you grew more and more apprehensive. The sickness overcoming your senses with nausea and stomach ache wasn't the only source of you incomfort, as you realized shooting yourself in here would disrupt your ritual. You were used to shoot in a relatively clean bathroom, as well as correctedly lit. Having your fix here made you beyond nervous, and you soon realized your legs not only trembled from pain, but also from fear as you sat down on the frigid tiles. Almost slipping on your muddy shoes, you let out a plaintive whimper, gliding against the wall as your voice and breathing resonated in the emptiness. Then, when your back made contact with the ice cold ground through the fabric of your jeans, you managed to take your backpack and open it. Rummaging a bit, you found everything. The dark box hiding your syringe and your garrotte, the bag full of your opiate, the lighter, the spoon, and what was left of water in your bottle. You had used a fair part for your wounds, and as thirsty as you felt, you knew you couldn't loose any of the precious liquid. 

Then, you got to work. With so little light, and with your shaky hands, you knew the process would be tedious. Frustrating. It would be a torture to do this in your state, and seeing your condition.   
You proceeded to put a bit of water in the spoon, then mixed it with a fix. It was long.  _So long..._  Just to carefully watch as despite your shaking, you didn't spill anything. You wanted everything to accelerate. You heated the spoon with your lighter, fortunately full enough to let you use it for quite long. As soon as the bitter smell rose to your nose, emanating from what had become a sort of dark brown, sticky liquid, you let the spoon down, and shone yourlight on the dark box to take out the syringe and assemble it. The needle turned rapidly in your trembling fingers as you screwed it to the vial, and once you finished, you eagerly placed the said needle in the spoon, absorbing the liquid. Yes.  _It was working, and you were getting impatient. You craved this..._

As soon as your..."Medication" was ready, you put the syringe down, and started the most frustrating, unnerving, and infuriating game ever: finding a vein to the mere light of your phone. You deeply, shakily inhaled, and then exhaled. Calm down. Focus.  _I can do this..._  
You took your garrotte out, and started to seek a viable vein. Instants passed. Soon, instants became minutes, and patience became fury. It made you mad. After countless times trying to feel the veins pulsing under your finger, tightening the rubber garrotte around your flesh, failing to find, start again, and again, feeling the blood drip and seeing none in the syringe, start again, and again, sighing, and again...You could almost smash the glass vial of the syringe in frustration, if you didn't cherish its content like a cursed treasure. Quietly, you suddenly eyed the slash in your calf. The brown, almost black blood drying in it... It was so open, so easy... After all, veins where  _just like tubes... You could try. You just had to aim. You were so desperate, maybe-..._

  
...It was the worst idea you've ever had. No. It was like insanity was slowly creeping up in your head... What were you thinking about...?! 

No. You had to be patient. Just a little bit more... Your shaking had gotten worse, but then you thought; the wound of your leg. You didn't have to shoot  _in_  the dent. But near it, the veins should have dilated. You could try it, it was actually not such a bad idea... You grabbed you leg, and carefully placing it on your other thigh, and started to search while your shone your light at your pale skin. You spent quite a moment searching correctly, partly because of the pain constantly coming back and blurring your focus. Then... There was it. Under your fingers, there was a vein pulsing near your ankle! And a fairly large one. With a load of hope, you pushed the needle past you skin, moved a bit, and... There it was. The pinkish puff in the vial. You had it...!   
A faint, eager smile shone on your lips, as you slowly pushed the liquid down in your blood. The needle was shaking with your fingers, hurting... _But damn it was good..._  
You shakily exhaled, and when you had drowned the last drop of the opiate in your blood, you pulled out the needle, letting your tool roll on the floor. 

Your shoulders suddenly relaxed, falling, and you pushed a tired, but relieved sigh out of your throat, closing your eyes. It felt... Burning. Atrocious.  _Heavenly.  
_ You had to get up. You knew you had to, to continue roaming those dark woods, and find your way home. But it felt so good, sitting here, and just... Feeling this  _hunger_  going away. Feeling less and less sick. Just... Away. Almost like flying. You felt free. Happy. Relaxed, and so full of energy you could jump off a window without dying. Maybe you could keep your eyes closed. Rest forever. Sit in here and never think of what has gone wrong ever again.   
However, your relaxed state was progressively interrupted by...A noise? Yes, it sounded like... Static. An awful, static noise growing. Like in an old TV not receiving anything... The sound grew and grew, only to become unbearable.

_What was that...?! Shut up...! Just.... Shut up, shut up, shut up,  shut up, shut up...! Enough!  
_

You wondered where it was coming from, until you realized the deafening sound came from your hand. More precisely, your phone.  
...What? Phones didn't make that kind of noise. They weren't supposed to. What was that? Slowly, curiosity, anguish and doubt overcame you, and you dared to try and open your eyes, just to check your phone... Only to be met with pitch black. It felt pretty odd, because you didn't remember turning the flash of your phone off. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused at the pitch dark standing in front of you... Standing...

There was someone standing in front of you. 

 

You just realized... There was someone. With you. Your breathing picked up. 

 

You were not alone. You never were. Your heartbeat became erratic. You wanted to cry. What the fuck. There was a suit...

 

Your eyes grew larger. You rose your head. Fear gripped your chest. You couldn't breathe. Litterally. You whimpered. You were so scared. 

 

You saw his face. You saw  **its**  face. There wasn't anyone with you. You started to cry. There was  **something**  with you. What was that. Oh my god. No... No  _no no NO NO NO NO NO NO..._

 

 

_**He has no face.  
** _

 

 

You let out the most blood-chilling scream you've ever heard. What the hell. What. The hell. You... You had bad trip. It was a bad trip... Nothing was real.  _God you hoped nothing was real..._ _Why did it feel so real...?  
_ You sloppily tried to crawl back, only to realize you were already stuck against the wall, only digging your shoulder blades in the cold ceramic tiles behind you. Suddenly, your sight seemed to grew larger, almost as if you realized you could eye the odd entity in front of you in all its height. This... Horrendous thing, it was awfully tall. It bore a lanky, skeletal figure, each joints and articulations appearing swollen compared to the frail bones of this creature, deprived of its muscles. Its face was, if you could call this blank canvas of pale, cadaver-like skin a "face"; vaguely resembling the shape of a human skull. Its only features were purple veins that failed to hide under this alabaster skin. And... It wore something alike a very old and dirty suit? Your whole cranium started to violently pound, as something itched in you throat. You tried to clear it, only for the itch to worsen. Now was  ** _certainly not_**  the good time to worry about cough or sickness... You were going through the worst bad trip of your life, with a potential death at stake...! You had something else to think! 

 

_'Fuck what was that.'_ , you thought, eyes widening when you heard a sickening cracking sound just in front of you. The sound felt all too real, and realization downed upon you again that it was coming from the creature. Despite the overwhelming pain in your skull, your attention came back, and focus made you notice the disgusting entity rolled a shoulder  in a grotesque, exaggerated movement to make the bones crack. It made no sound, at least from it's throat, but as the movement gave life to a sort of violent spasm within the creature's body, its neck followed the movement his shoulder had made, and suddenly was crooked to the side violently, in a second. It almost felt like the monster's neck had broke, leaving its head to rest in a disturbing angle, seating abnormally still. Could your drugged up mind, under the influence of opiates and suffering, have managed to create a demon, specially designed to intimately torment you? Were you unconsciously doing this to yourself...?   
As the beating sound resonating for quite long now, accompanied by the high-pitched, tensed whistling in the air never ceased, you started to wonder if this entity, although being most probably an illusion of your mind, had actually broken its neck and died... Instants passed, and it stayed so still, unmoving. Maybe you could try to get away... Maybe it would disappear? Slowly, ever so slowly, you tried to pat around you to find your things. Your phone, your backpack, the syringe you had let roll on the floor a while ago... It would be a good start, before trying to bolt away. Well... As much as your leg would let you. 

 

But as you tried to sloppily move, too battered by the pain and the exhaustion to actually move precisely, it seemed that one spasm of your shaking hand against the ceramic floor woke the creature up. Only the faint, almost inaudible sound of your nails against the old ceramic pavements ignited a sort of rumbling inside the chest of the strange entity. At first, the slight sound seemed like a sort of unearthly, disturbing purr, but it soon morphed into a low growl. It seemed surreal, almost like it echoed inside your head, and not really from the slender creature throat.

The sound made you freeze.

 

This...Thing was not dead. You didn't know how, or why, but you couldn't shake this hallucination out. You've already "seen" things before. You weren't a stranger to tripping. But right now... You're fight or flight instinct, barely covered by the incessant pain  _everywhere_  in your body, couldn't apparently stop to kick in, again, and again, and again, as your heart gave you the feeling it was stopping, and your brain, that it was exploding. This pattern of violent pain repeated like a cursed loop, something you've never experienced as intensely before. Plus, this state of confused suffering, it was when you were down... Sick. Never when you just took a fix. 

You didn't realised that you unconsciously voiced your thoughts until you actually heard yourself mumbling faintly: 

"I-I...I'm going to d-die...?"

This voice... It didn't even seem it was belonging to you. It was so weak. So... Broken. Following those words, the sorrow dripping from them, you heard your breath pick up. You were so scared... Damn, you would have wanted to run away. Tear yourself away from this sick illusion. But outside of a throbbing skull, and a torn off leg... You were desperately dreadful of what would come if you dared to move. 

Suddenly, the creature, who was shortly ago growling at you feebly spasmed again, before...

 

 

It moved. 

Oh god it moved... It had been bending towards you, almost eyeing you curiously. Although it didn't have a single eye you could see, you felt it's attention on you. It's  _unwanted_  attention. Something ill, that you've felt before. It didn't come up right when you entered this forest. It amplified... But you've been feeling like this for months. Just... This feeling of being watched. Observed, like a plaything.   
Slowly, the creature, although silent, let a knee down on the tiles, approaching you slowly. Your head suddenly felt like someone introduced sharp razors through your ears and into your brain, before grabbing your head and shaking it violently. It felt like hell now...

 

_Worse than anything you've ever felt before..._

 

You heard yourself whimper, your eyes almost rolling at the back of your skull as you  closed your sore lids, grabbing your head. Your cranium felt crushed to pieces now, and your brain bathing in acidic mixture, waiting to be digested into a lumpy mush of neurons. Your digits pressed harder at your temples, vainly trying to relieve your head from this vicious pain...  
You almost didn't notice the feeling of a thick, burning texture rolling softly out of your nose, way to focused on the searing burn in your head, and how hellbent you were to just make it all stop. But at this worrying sensation, barely opening your eyes and hoping for the disgusting hallucination in front of you to be gone, deceit didn't seem to have spared you...

 

Your heart abruptly skipped a beat in your chest, and your eyes grew to their widest when you saw how close to creature was now. But not only that... You felt freezing digits slide on your waist, just where your shirt was. The sudden, icy burn against your skin made you yelp, and lowering your eyes you realized with a hint of additional pain in your brain that the slender figure had touched you. It was... Touching you. A real, cold, unforgiving touch.   
Your eyes widened even more, you thought it couldn't be possible. But actually, your brain had just ditched everything, only to repeat something alarmingly creepy, in an unending loop of panic: 

 

_It was too real. The touch was too real to be in your head. Something was so, so awfully wrong, and you knew it with the strength of a despair you've never encountered._

 

The oxygen. You didn't breath. Barely... Your breath was whistling, and wasn't just 'picking up'. You were hyperventilating again. But not out of panic... Out of cheer, pure terror. The unleashed horror of feeling helpless in front of the real unknown.   
Go away, you instantly thought. Now. No information, as practical as they could have been, could have rushed to your panicked brain. It seemed to only listen to your instinct, as your entire body shook with vicious doses of adrenaline. That was it, whether you were going to run, scream, or die from cardiac arrest right now. 

However, it seemed instinct had taken over you. It just felt like you were on a suffering fueled autopilot. You weren't in control of anything. A silent scream just bubbled in your throat, and a powerful tensing in your legs pushed your to actually get up.   
The impulsion in your leg felt sudden and abrupt, but it was nothing compared to the live horror you felt when realization dawned upon you that you calf was sending you your worst load of pain signals, coupled with the strain in your heart when your hopes to run away already started to fade away. 

Moreover, in fact, you didn't even have the time to ponder all of this, naturally, as your body automatically rushed into a flight mode, pushing the little energy you had in your leg. But as you felt the impulsion in your muscles, for it was desperately painful, you never really felt how your feet crushed against the cold tiles. Instead, you only felt a large, bony hand engulfing your entire thorax in those never-ending, crooked fingers. You couldn't really understand what was happening. The only thing you truly managed to register was the violent blow that managed to cut your breath when your torso was smashed against the wall behind you. Your mind wasn't even clear enough the register anything correctly now, and the pounding headache you had, combined with the tearing, almost dull pain in your leg was making you sob uncontrollably.   
  
You didn't have the courage to look up. When you tried to open your eyes, you could only stare through the obscure room at what looked like a crooked, grotesque pair of shoes. Your breathing couldn't even slow down, and your heartbeat sounded deafening and racing. You had only one chance to escape. One, single chance to run away, and it was wasted in a second, when you were caught by an entity that couldn't only be a product of your twisted, intoxicated mind. And oh, what you would have given to simply...Be away. This hell  _had_  to stop. Unfortunately, fate showed itself to be a cruel deceiver. Your heart skipped a beat, igniting a vivid pain in your chest when you started to feel something cold creeping up your ankle, wrapping around it, and occasionally, around your shredded wound. It was sticky and freezing, and soon, you started to sob loudly. It felt like someone just poured acid in the dent of your calf, and you threw a panicked glance at your leg, starting to violently shake. Around it, a sort of pitch black, gluey and dark appendage was slithering, circling your leg and pulling on it. It felt inconsistent and gelatinous, but you couldn't even think it would bear such strength. God, you couldn't even think an demonic entity would appear before you, and even less that it would be armed with such a sickening appendage, that looked like a shadow and felt almost like ice cold jelly. Shook by spasms and cries, you lifted you head, and the strain around your heart made you snap and plead desperately:   
  
  
"...P-Please...Don't...Don't hurt me...L-Let me go...I beg you..."  
  
  
Your voice was pleading and the sound of it awakened a painful itch in your throat, as well as a rumbling, dark growl coming from the creature in front of you. It almost sounded like a sort of vibrant clicking, and you felt yourself tensing in horror as the demonic presence bent unnaturally, slowly bringing its face closer to yours... And you felt this never ending, inexistant look staring right through you. You, on the other hand, couldn't even process a single information. You were just blinded with pain and drugs. Everything felt unreal and all too real at the same time, and the only thing you wanted was to get away. For it to end.  
You didn't care whether this was real or not. If it was paranormal or your mind giving in to your favorite poison. At this point, it didn't matter anymore. You were too busy with your current, unbearable suffering. So busy, in fact, that this time you didn't even feel how the crooked fingers of the slender creature quietly slid under your shirt, caressing your skin with a touch filled with gruesome need. Like a demon wanting to tear a human apart just to see what it was made of. This morbid curiosity remained, as you felt distinctly this time something brushing under your chest, tracing your ribs and slowly creeping up your skin like a razor sharp blade tracing a cold, invisible path on you. Its fingers were on your body, and the searing pain within your skull kept you from fighting back. Slowly, the hand constricting your thorax relaxed, and started to lift off, letting the fingers under the clothe of your shirt glide more freely. You couldn't even move without having the impression that your skull was imploding. When you didn't have the support of a crooked, slender hand, finding steadiness in its unbounded size, you felt how your legs failed you, a whimper escaping your constricted, itching throat when you abruptly fell down.   
  
A loud sob escaped you once again, as the raven appendage around your leg tightened, and jerked you forward as you limped on the floor painfully. The force of your fall, combined with the strangely forceful jerk that pulled your leg from under you, had your head smashing painfully against the cold hard tiles. The heavy, disorientating pain of such a blow didn't even let you hear the wheezing cry that escaped your mouth inadvertently, and you lied there for an unknown amount of time, incapable of processing whatsoever and wondering barely coherently if you would feel you mind slip into the darkness of unconsciousness -or better, death. Your perception of what was happening around you was blurry. The need to scream and cry was overwhelming, but your body firmly refused to comply with the stifling panic spreading through your mind like a disease. But when, almost in a miracle, you noticed how the already ice cold air around you felt more insidious, you barely saw your shirt lifted off my your fall and the creeping hand that traced you skin.   
  
Could that be... What was this creature doing?   
Deep down, you weren't sure, and surprisingly enough for such a hazy mind, you started to imagine the worst. However, you weren't even sure what 'the worst' could actually be... The way your skin was brushed and...Almost studied by this entity of death and sorrow, you wanted to feel like this was just a deeply morbid curiosity from an unearthed, ethereal creature that should never have existed in the first place. 


	3. HE COMES - A Zalgo One-Shot (With Suicide_Mouse.avi)

You coughed a bit, old dust rising as a huge pile of books slide from your arms.   
  
"Oh, shit!", you whispered a bit harshly, seeing yourself dropping everything you were supposed to sort out.  
Your boss suddenly snapped her head towards you, glaring at your hunched over form with a blood-chilling expression of pure anger. You simply awkwardly smiled, hoping it would buy you forgiveness, while muttering a bit too loudly:   
  
"Sorry...!"  
  
"...Just...! Just shut up already...! You're making enough sounds to wake the dead, don't forget where you are...!", whisper-shouted the mature woman in charge of you and your foolish mistakes.   
She finally just turned back, returning angrily to her desk, while you picked up all the books that fell because of a wrong movement. You sighed, your back tensing as all your muscles worked. Your breathing unconsciously synched with the angered clap's of your boss's heels, and you threw her a condescending look. Why did she felt this strange obligation to yell at you eveytime...? When you made mistakes, she was pretty right, but sometimes you had the feeling it was bordering harassment.   
  
Working in a library wasn't always easy. Actually, it was even pretty hard! At the end of the day, your back ached, and the only thing you craved was a hot shower or a hot bath to relax all of your tensed system. The dust of the library, which was really old, piled in your throat, which was sore for a couple of days following, an sometimes when turning the pages of a book, the thin paper scraped and cut in your fingers, leaving your skin with a slicing ache for the rest of the day.   
At least, your job involved to spend a majority of your time near the Junior Part of the library. So you could enjoy paper decorations hanging from the walls, cute children reading or asking their parents to quietly read them something. And although there was always, at one point in the day, a child suddenly howling in pure rage because of a tantrum thrown in the middle of an overall quiet library, it usually was pretty calm and cheerful in there. You even got to do a reading session for toddlers at the week-end; a lovely time where parents of the town would come with their children, and while you sat on a bright red toy couch made of foam and plastic, you would pick a book and read it to a whole gathering of toddlers. It was always kind of funny to add a huge melodramatic tone to the simplest sentence, and see how young children would stare at you with wide, captivated eyes, or laugh at how you read a part of the story. It was, somehow, like a fun break in all the work you had to do.   
  
All the rest was pretty boring; sort out books, sort the one which weren't read enough so the would go in the archive, update the archive computer with the new addition and precise if you had taken some books from it, before you go and sort the again between the shelves of the library. Overall, it was just a  **lot** of sorting. At least, the job paid well, so you wouldn't worry too much for the cost of your studies.   
  
You had already picked up the books you had dropped a moment ago, and put them in the heavy cart you pushed before starting to sort the books again. It was getting repetitive, and you started to yawn already as it was getting pretty late. There almost no one now in the library, only a couple of elderly poeple reading their favourite novels out of the loneliness their houses offered, and a bunch of students still working  _more or less_ hard on their essays. Out of the high windows topping the shelves near the walls, the night was particularily dark. It was the kind of night that only took place in the begining of winter. The one where the lights don't turn on right away, as the days shorten more and more from the transformation of fall to a lifeless winter. It just resulted in dark nights, obscured skies rendered even darker by a strange lack of clouds, as a cold wind pushed them away and, the freezing cold engulfed everything for the first time in half of a year. Those nights bore a certain melancoly to them, as usually they were inhabited by an eerie silence, with no clouds, no snow, and no vegetation to lend you some company. The lack of particular, seasonal traits to each late scenery made you feel lonely, and in the depths of nights like those, it became easy to hear the shadows whisper.  
  
And despite the strangely sad and dark description you made of it, you always liked nights like those. There was a certain peace inherent to them. Like and old, quiet friend who smiled to you again. A sense of safety which had not its place in this scenery, but felt refreshing nonetheless. As you sorted the books, you turned to the clock; in less than an hour, you would end your shift and be able to go home. You only craved more the warmth of a shower and the soft comfiness of some pajamas, as well as your mellow bed. From your perspective, it looked like heaven...  
The last thing you had to do for the day was to bring the cart down the archives, put away the books and update the old computer with the new additions. It was pretty simple in itself, and you knew a tiny bit of patience would reward you with a good way home, and the most beautiful, envied, and refreshing shower of the month.   
  
You pushed the cart to an elevator at the back of the library.  
The establishment, for what you knew, was the largest library in town, maybe even in the state. It was an incredibly old building, wearing it's marbles decorations at the corner of each walls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know I haven't finished my second chapter, but since this one may be a lot shorter, and Slender is giving me a HELL of a hiatus, I'll do this for you all to wait a bit. Hope you liked it!


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